


Hate the Game

by bruisespristine



Series: Taylor Swift Verse (College AU, no actual TSwift) [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Read Hate the Player and Love the Game first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 96,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're moving out and moving in and moving on. Team Machine go on European summer vacay, but strange events from Root's past are catching up with her and it doesn't seem like she's gonna get to holiday in peace. Sun, sea, sand, secrets and obviously smut because have you met me? abound in this terribly summarized part three of my Team Machine nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Move Me Like One of your Housemate Girls

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO THE THUNDERDOME. Hi everyone! I love you all, delightful creatures that you are. I hope you enjoy this new plotty installment of the trials and tribulations of Team Machine. I'm planning on bi-weekly updates right now as I am still technically on vacation and could vanish into a heap of nonsense at any moment, but when I get back to sweet Canadia I hope to go to thrice weekly. Also, I must mention my amazing beta, [Lapseinjudgement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapseinjudgment/profile) who has kindly and generously agreed to make sense out of my keyboard flails and has already made this story considerably better. Drop your accolades accordingly.

“Where do you want this monstrosity?” John’s breathing is laboured and Root looks up from the bookshelf, where she’s busy pulling volumes out to make space for Shaw’s collection. Some of hers will go into storage, some to the thrift store, and it’s actually kind of fun, making a dent in her random collection in order to expand it by addition of Shaw’s books. It’s the last place she has to make space for Shaw to slot in, to share everything equally.    
  
John is leaning against BOB—the man-shaped martial arts dummy—in the doorway. His white tanktop is damp down the center from the sweat that shines all over him. He puts his shoulder down and painstakingly inches BOB further into the apartment. 

“Uh... over here?” Root points at the empty corner of the living room, which used to house her second desk, now cleared off and on the opposite side of the room so Shaw has a place to work if she wants. She swallows a laugh as John grunts with effort and heaves BOB along the wood floor. “Any particular reason you didn’t... you know, empty him out?” She inquires, shoving a cardboard box of books out of his path as John finally makes it to the corner and positions BOB against the wall.

“What?” He pants, slumping down, leaning against BOB’s stand. 

Root snickers and squirms across the floor to tap the plastic cap on BOB's base, “he’s full of water. You could have emptied him out and refilled him once you were up here....”

“I am going to  _ kill  _ Zoe,” John moans, keeling over and putting his head on Root’s thigh, “she told me he was full of sand that couldn’t be replaced.”

“Even if he  _ was _ full of sand, you could have decanted it into something and then filled him back up,” Root points out, unable to resist even though John is making the poutiest face she’s ever seen on him. She pats his head idly, sort of attempting comfort. It’s sweaty and gross so she makes a face and wipes her hand on her thigh before grabbing a pillow off the side of the couch. She squirms out from under him and replaces her thigh with the cushion. “Here, have a little sleep, I’ll go pinch Zoe for you.”   
  
“Somewhere painful,” he mutters, eyes closed.

When Root emerges into the parking lot, Harry is limping toward her with his arms full of bulging trashbags, and Zoe is sitting on the roof of the car, pointing at the rather diminished heaps of things as Joss hauls stuff out of the car. Shaw is nowhere in sight. 

“She’s freaking out, but not very much. I sent her to get takeaway and beer,” Zoe informs Root as she crosses the lot and leans her hip on the car.

“Fair enough.” Root picks up one soft, cylindrical bag full of clothes in each hand, “although I do already have beer.”

“Enough for six hungry removal workers?” Joss inquires, hoisting a box onto her shoulder and picking up a huge, flat suitcase-looking thing with her other hand.

“Ah, valid point, you can all drink me under the table,” Root agrees, heading towards the building. Behind her, she hears Zoe thump onto the pavement and the telltale sound of the car lock clicking. 

“That’s it, the last load!” Zoe declares as she catches up with them, struggling to balance a large mirror—which Shaw is gonna hang for sexy viewing purposes—over her head. She has a small backpack on her back. Her task is made more difficult by the fact she’s wearing oven mitts, which Root isn’t even sure belong to Shaw, but isn’t gonna question. 

“Only took a couple of hours. It’ll be way worse when we have to move our stuff from Finch’s when we get back,” Joss holds the door open for them with her foot and Root hurries through, followed into the elevator by Zoe.

“Well, Shaw isn’t exactly a hoarder. Not surprising moving the two of us took three times as long just to box up and shift.” Zoe snickers, trying to depress the button with her elbow. Joss rolls her eyes at her efforts and Root laughs and hits the button: her bags aren’t that heavy. 

“At least Finch hired a mover so we didn’t have to do them as well, that would have taken bloody forever,” Joss grins, while Zoe leans her foot against the wall and narrowly avoids clonking Root over the head with her mirror.

“I would have hired a mover, but Shaw thought they’d look at her stuff,” Root waits for the elevator door to open, “and I kind of see her point. I lost a really nice corset and a gold dildo last time I had a moving company.”

“...a gold dildo? Like.. made of  _ gold? _ ” Zoe sounds very excited. She pushes past Root into the corridor and heads for the apartment.

“Gold in colour, only, not material,” Root clarifies, following after, with Joss bringing up the rear, “dump all that in the corner there,” she demos by dropping her bags at the edge of the room, by the window, “and we’ll sort it out when Shaw’s back. Beer?”

“Beer,” A chorus of agreement comes, and Root cracks her back as she heads for the fridge. She opens all of a six-pack save one, and hands them around, taking a seat in the comfy chair while Harry and John are taking up the entire sofa.  Zoe sits precariously on the arm, and Joss steals a pillow for the floor.

“You guys all done?” Shaw appears in the doorway, hands full of bags and her chin forwards a little, daring anyone to challenge her disappearance.

“Sure are, babe. John carried BOB all the way up full of water,” Root calls cheerfully, and Shaw relaxes a little as John moans pathetically. She shuffles in, kicking her shoes off and dumping her bags in the kitchen before grabbing a beer and joining the group, sliding onto the floor next to Joss.

“We should get a beanbag or something, so when we have the crew over there’s more places to sit,” Shaw runs her thumb over the neck of her beer, and Joss kicks her affectionately in the ankle.

“Good idea,” Root replies, pleased. Most of the time Shaw seems all for moving in, but part of Root is waiting for her to change her mind, to bolt.

“I can’t remember where I put my passport,” Shaw leans her head back on the couch, looking up at Zoe in question.

“Blue backpack, left zip,” Zoe replies, saluting, and Shaw grins in reply. 

Then John bends his leg and kicks Zoe right off the sofa. She falls to the floor with an indignant squawk, spilling her beer, and John sits up to point at her with his beer, “that’s for making me carry BOB, by the way.”   
  
Zoe sighs, “which one of you spoiled my master plan?”


	2. Fist Me Like One Of Your Robot Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudosing and commenting team, you make it worth the time! :D

Harry cleans up the beer, muttering about hardwood floors, much to Shaw’s amusement, and they all veg in front of a couple of episodes of Community before the Team take their leave, abandoning Shaw and Root to do the unpacking. 

Shaw’s already packed for Europe, her big backpack leaning next to the kitchen counter. Root also finished packing earlier: she hauls her bag out of the bedroom to be out the way while they get Shaw’s other stuff settled in.

They’re listening to trashy pop-punk and teasing each other while unpacking, putting Shaw’s clothes into the drawers and half the wardrobe Root emptied out for her. The moving situation had ended up being a great opportunity to clean out her stuff. 

Root’s phone rings in the other room and she heads out to answer, leaving Shaw to stuff her undies and bras into a drawer, organising them by function from sexy to sporty. She can barely hear Root over the music, but she sounds annoyed, her voice slightly raised and she definitely says ‘fucking idiot’ at least once. 

After five or so minutes—enough time that Shaw is hanging her dresses up while bobbing her head to the Offspring—Root pokes her head around the bedroom door, looking harangued.

“Hey babe, my idiot client let his idiot godson poke around in my code and he’s fucked the  _ entire  _ system, which shouldn’t be my problem but he’s gonna pay me ten grand to make it my problem. Can you handle the unpacking if I go clean up?” She’s chewing her lip, like abandoning Shaw to unpack her own clothes is a punishable crime, and Shaw throws a pair of socks at her in response to said dramatics.

“Sure, buy me something pretty with your newfound wealth,” she teases, jerking her chin at Root, “of course, dummy. Go do the thing.”

Root nods, looking grateful, and disappears into the living room. Shaw busies herself stowing her clothes, then dumps her sex toys out into the box under the bed, which is looking suspiciously depleted—presumably Root has already packed a selection for their trip away, which gives Shaw a little thrill. 

Sloping into the living room to get the trash bags full of sheets and stuff to add to the linen closet, Shaw pauses to smirk at the sight of Root. She has a half empty glass of wine balanced dangerously at the edge of her desk, headphones so big Shaw can hardly see the sides of her face, and a look of  _ epic  _ concentration on the bit she  _ can _ see. She’s also swearing loudly, clearly unable to hear her own spiels of vulgarity. It’s quite impressive. 

Shaw snickers as Root describes, in detail, what whoever messed up her apparently beautiful and perfect code can do with himself, which seems both impossible and unpleasant at best. 

Folding sheets is hard, and Shaw is extremely pleased she made Zoe do the bulk of it—who the fuck made fitted sheets  _ so difficult _ ? Everything excluding the sheets that literally just came off her bed is ready to go into the cupboard as is. She stuffs them into the closet and decides to put the scrumpled ones straight in the laundry in order to avoid dealing with them. 

Next up is her art supply box, and the huge carry bags with her canvases in them. She stored them under her bed at the Casa, and sees no reason that wouldn’t work here, so she drags them into the bedroom and squats down to investigate. 

To her surprise, there’s a bunch of stuff under there, and on closer investigation she realises that they almost match the black carry-cases now lying on the floor by her feet. She unzips the corner of one, and is greeted by the familiar sight of canvas, stretched on a thin wooden frame. She can’t see the picture, but it’s blues and whites smeared off the edge onto the rim. Wriggling out from under the bed, she gets to her feet and pads into the living room, waving to get Root’s attention.

Root doesn’t even blink, Shaw tries to get right in her eyeline, fails, and gives up, pulling the headphone jack out of the computer. 

Her eardrums are immediately assaulted by what sounds like a bunch of robots having a fit. She winces, flails for the volume control on the speakers and manages to turn it off.

“What the fuck are you listening to?” She inquires, wiggling her finger in her ear to help clear it.

“Skrillex, it’s my coding music,” Root blinks, pulling the headphones off her ears, “what’s up?”

“It sounds like Transformers fisting each other,” Shaw complains, still trying to stop her ears from ringing—that music was both terrible and also way too loud for Root to be pumping right into her own ears. 

Root just gives her one of those looks, those up and down, bright-eyed and dirty looks, lingering on her curves. 

Shaw knows exactly what she’s thinking and rolls her eyes defensively, despite the heat that coils instantly in her stomach, “urgh, you can’t fist me right now, Root, I’m still having your fucking uterus cramps _and_ you have work to do.”  
  
“Well, you interrupted me,” Root sighs, “ _and_ insulted my music. Whaddya want?” She turns her chair, opens her legs and stretches, her back cracking.

“I was trying to put my art shit under the bed, but you already have art shit under the bed. Are you secretly learning to paint?” Shaw pokes Root’s slippered foot idly with her toes. She’s not wearing socks, and Root is wearing her ridiculous fluffy bunny slippers—the ones that Shaw would never admit to having tried on, let alone enjoying the soft and cozy fleece. 

Root exhales and runs her foot up the inside of Shaw’s calf, “they’re not mine. They’re Hanna’s. She was an art student, and her parents didn’t want them when they... when they cleared her dorm room out. I’ve never actually looked at them, I couldn’t, and then I guess...I kind of forgot they were there.” 

“Any ideas where I should put my canvases then,” Shaw inquires carefully, not sure whether this is a ‘talk about feelings’ moment or not.

“Eh, maybe I’ll pick one of Hanna’s to put up and shove the rest in storage. No need to have them taking up your space,” Root slips out of her chair and takes a huge gulp of wine before heading for the bedroom. 

_Your space_ , it feels good, but she doesn't want Root to feel like she needs to put Hanna away in order to make room for Shaw. She chews the inside of her cheek and follows after her. 

Root pulls the carry cases out from under the bed and unzips the first one, throwing back the top and carefully moving away the protective sheet of wax paper covering the canvas.

“Huh,” Shaw squats down, “she was studying the impressionists?” The painting is an amazing replica of Starry Night, and the more she looks at it, the better it is. Something catches her eye, and she raises an eyebrow, reaching out to touch the scratches in the paint, “and... copying Van Gogh down to the signature, it seems...” 

Root frowns, and shrugs, “weird assignment,” she moves the top picture, and blinks as another, seemingly exact copy of Starry Night is revealed. 

Shaw yanks the top case off and opens the next one. Two more Starry Nights greet them. Shaw’s not even shocked when the last case contains two more.

Root just sits, silently, running her fingers down the edge of one of the paintings, her brows furrowed.

“Root... what the fuck was your friend doing with six... suspiciously good copies of Starry Night, on era-appropriate canvas, complete with signatures?”

“I don’t know...” Root whispers, not looking up.

“These look... they look like  _ forgeries _ ,” Shaw states the exceedingly obvious, as Root traces her fingers over the signature in the corner.


	3. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, massively appreciate all the love you guys have been leaving. 
> 
> Also, delighted that the transformers/skrillex joke was so popular because I killed myself laughing when I came up with it and NONE of my friends (who, in all fairness, had dragged me to a skrillex concert?!) thought it was funny.

“Yeah... they do, don’t they?” There’s a weird, breathy quality in Root’s voice that she ignores in favour of pulling the carry cases further into the space by the bed, and lifting the first canvas up. She turns it over in her hands, looking for anything that might explain the presence of six fake Van Gogh’s under her bed. A note saying it was an assignment, a... Root doesn’t even know. 

There’s nothing in the first case, but in the second a bulge in the fabric reveals something stuffed between the lining, something hard and rectangular. Root fumbles for a way in, a slit in the fabric or something, but Shaw carefully pulls her clumsy fingers away, shuts the case and unzips a pocket on the outside. 

Root watches blankly as Shaw pulls an iPhone out of the pocket, turns it over in her hands, “this hers?” Shaw asks. She sounds a little bit like she’s talking to an animal she’s worried is gonna take her hand off, and Root blinks, snapping back into herself like an elastic band has been released. 

“No. She had a Samsung. Hated iPhones,” her hands are reaching out for it of their own accord. Six copies of Starry Night, and a phone Hanna swore blind she’d never use. 

The phone is dead, won’t turn on when she depresses the button, and that’s not even slightly surprising really, it’s been in there for over a year and a half, after all. 

Shaw scrambles after her as she gets jerkily to her feet and heads into the living room. Root yanks open the drawer where she keeps her old, outdated tech. You never know when some jackass is gonna ask you to retrieve information from a floppy disk. Root collects cables and equipment like a very specific kind of hoarder.

Her head is pounding with a sick, thrumming kind of headache, and her fingers feel useless, alien as she plugs the phone into her computer, sits down and waits for it to power up. It takes a while for the battery to process enough to show anything more than the dead battery sign, but then it finally boots and asks for a password.

Root methodically types in Hanna’s birthday—she’d never been very good with her passwords. The iPhone rejects it, warning she has two more tries. Root tries her own—real, not fake—birthday, and the phone unlocks. Tears jump out of her eyes like they just appeared there without forming at all, just suddenly she’s crying, hot tears of helpless rage. 

She’s never cried for Hanna, not really. The closest she ever came was that night after Harold was attacked, and now she’s shaking and sobbing because stupid Hanna used Root’s stupid birthday for her stupid second phone that Root never even fucking knew she had. How could she possibly not have known?

A hand squeezes her shoulder, making her jump. She’d all but forgotten Shaw was even there. 

Shaw carefully detangles her fingers from the phone, like Root is so fragile she might break, and then she slides her hand into Root’s hair and tugs gently until Root leans sideways, rests her forehead against Shaw’s sternum and weeps in thick, brutal sobs that tear her throat and make her feel like her whole chest is full of rocks. 

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, Hanna’s gone, she’s been gone for nineteen months, twenty eight days—her brain does the math without her meaning too—seventeen hours and fifty four minutes, and now there’s this huge  _ thing  _ Root never even knew about, and it feels like she’s lost her all over again, like who Hanna was to Root was skewed and twisted. Was a lie. Shaw pets her hair. She’s humming something, Root realises, shoulders heaving awkwardly against the gentle circle of Shaw’s arms. It sounds like a lullaby. 

Root cries for a while, until she’s empty and can’t cry anymore, even though something is stuck in her throat like a jagged stone. Shaw has kind of positioned herself against the edge of the desk, continued to pet Root, even though Root can feel tension in her joints. When she looks up, Shaw’s jaw is tight and her eyes are closed, but she never once let go of Root.

“Sorry,” Root sniffs, wet and disgusting. She pulls back a bit, tries to clean her face off with her own sleeve. Shaw slowly lets her go, opens her eyes, and Root can barely look at her, too afraid of what she’ll see in Shaw’s face. Disgust, maybe, for her weakness. Discomfort.

Shaw pulls her shirt off over her head, and holds it out to Root. When Root looks up Shaw shrugs, “you already soaked it, may as well finish it off.” She gestures to Root’s face, her gaze determined but not visibly distressed or overly uncomfortable.

Root nods, takes the shirt, and rubs her face clean on the back of it. Shaw pats her shoulder in a business-like fashion and it makes Root do a damp little laugh into the shirt.  
  
While Root was cleaning up, Shaw’s picked up the phone. She turns it in her hands to show Root. There’s no service, nothing in the texts, or contacts, but a single number shows sixty two incoming calls, all on the same day. It takes Root a second of dislocating uncertainty before she knows, “that’s the day....” she mumbles, and Shaw turns the phone to look at the date.

“What?” She catches up fast, though, “the day she... the day she died?” 

Root nods, mute.  
  
“How did she die, Root?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a short one, it was the logical place to do a perspective jump and the next chapter is almost 2k so I thought it was probably fine. <3


	4. Carrying Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: okay so in this chapter there is discussion of how Hanna died. I don't think it's super graphic, but if you want to check in at the bottom for a detailed and clinical warning, it's there for you. Take care of yourself, friends! :)

Root blinks slowly, tears caught in her eyelashes like diamonds, despite having just wiped her face violently in Shaw’s tshirt. Oh well, it wasn’t one of her favourites, just a gross, mucking around shirt she’d put on for moving. In. With Root.

It seems so unfair. This was supposed to be a big day in an entirely different way than finding forgeries of a hugely famous painting under Root’s bed. Shaw is  _ sure  _ they’re forgeries. She doesn’t know if they are  _ good  _ forgeries, in the sense of paints used, era-appropriate brushes, and brush stroke angles and stuff. But is there a market for ‘replica’ Van Gogh paintings that mimic the man down to his signature? She doesn’t think so. Shaw is very familiar with Van Gogh, he was one of her dad’s favourites. Those paintings were, at least on the surface of things, pretty fucking convincing.

She waits quietly, churning over the facts. Root opens her mouth to speak, stops, chews her reddened lip, swallows nothing and glances around the room like the answers are about to magically manifest in front of them both. 

Patience isn’t Shaw’s strongest suit, but she’s learned from experience that Root needs to parse through information sometimes. She often can’t get it out first try, and, if Shaw pushes, Root will just end up either clamming up or babbling out her actual thought processes—which are convoluted and confusing even on a good day. This doesn’t look like a good day to Shaw.

“Someone followed her into an alley,” Root says carefully after a deep breath, not looking at Shaw. Her hand is twisted so hard into Shaw’s tshirt her knuckles are bleached white, little hills of bone. 

Shaw stays very still, and doesn’t say anything, because that’s the best way to make Root keep talking when she has this careful, detached tone. 

“And they hit her head against the wall until she died.” Root finishes. 

Shaw’s brain unhelpfully provides a vivid sensory memory of Martine’s head cracking into the plaster in their living room and she shivers. Root looks like she might throw up, Shaw’s torn between fetching her a waste bucket—just so she can  _ move,  _ do something—and staying stock-still, trying not to break the moment. 

Root hiccups a small, pathetic little sob.“She died, and it’s my fault. We were supposed to walk home together, and instead I was fucking some girl behind a club, and we heard her. We heard Hanna scream and I ran after her but I was too late and she was dead.” Root’s hands flex like she’s holding something that isn’t fabric. “I don’t even remember the girl’s name.”   
  
Fuck. “Fuck.” Shaw had  _ no idea.  _ None. Not that it was like that, violent like that, or that Root had been the one to find her. She doesn’t know what to say, what  _ can _ you fucking say to that? There’s not a sentence in the world that can even try to lift the weight of that. She feels like she’s watching Root getting crushed into nothing right in front of her, and she’s too weak to stop it. Her hands are in fists. She uncurls them deliberately. 

“Yeah,” Root exhales slowly, tiredly, lets go of the shirt with one hand and pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Then she laughs, softly. There’s no humour in it.

* * *

 

Shaw covers the hand that’s still wrapped in her shirt with her own, detangles Root’s fingers and holds them in her palm.

“I don’t have time to have a fucking nervous breakdown,” Root leans into Shaw’s body. Her mouth is hot against Shaw’s naked ribcage, and it’s confusing, to have that sensation without it being sexual. 

“I know,” Shaw murmurs, pushing her hand into the hair at the base of Root’s neck, rubbing gently, “what can I do?” Since she has no idea, but maybe Root does, and then Shaw can do that and be helpful and everything will be okay. 

Root sighs, her breath tickling Shaw’s skin. Her cheek is still wet, or wet again: either way it’s clammy and unpleasant. Shaw doesn’t pull away. 

“Nothing. There’s nothing. Those paintings have been under my bed for  _ two years _ . We just have to... forget about it til we get back. Forget about her.” It sounds like Root is angry now. Angry with herself for not looking at the canvases sooner, maybe? Or just angry at the whole situation.

Shaw can’t stop thinking about the noise Martine’s head made when it impacted the wall. Shaw knew, in that moment, that she could have killed her. Easily. It doesn’t even frighten her. She knew that was the only way she could control the gun in time, before Martine got another shot off. She wonders what it would be like to kill someone like that. She feels faintly queasy, like she ate something that’s sitting badly with her. Root’s best friend died, just like that. It’s an unwelcome and unpleasant mirror. Shaw tries to avoid the reflection, looking at the phone. Sixty two calls. On the day she died. Coincidence? Sixty two is a  _ lot  _ of calls. Too many. Sixty two calls to a burner phone Hanna’s best friend didn’t know she had, and a pile of forged art under Root’s bed. None of it feels right 

“What if it’s... you know,” Shaw waves her free hand vaguely at the phone, “connected?” 

Root exhales harshly, leans away from Shaw’s body. Shaw misses the weight of her immediately. She watches Root turn back to the computer, her hands shaking as she spreads them over the keys and then they steady, like Root is forcing herself to stop reacting, refusing to give in to her bodily responses. It’s like watching a program reboot. It makes Shaw uncomfortable, as though Root is tuning her out.

“Then NOVA will tell us when we get Them back online. This...” Root gestures at the phone, and towards the bedroom, “it’s too much. I can’t. I won’t. We’re going on vacation with our friends, and we’ve had a shitty fucking year, and we’re going to have an amazing time, and we’re gonna leave it alone. Leave Hanna alone.”   
  
Shaw has known Root for almost a year, now. She’s known Root to go after things she shouldn’t, refuse to leave things alone, probe at things like she’s poking a sore tooth with her tongue. She doesn’t think she’s ever once seen Root leave something alone. She hums noncommittally, and Root looks up at her. Her eyes are furious, for a second, and then they soften, and Shaw sees such naked pain in her eyes that it makes her flinch, blink away. “I can’t,” Root repeats, and Shaw nods roughly. 

“I’ll... I’ll put the paintings back. Away,” she mutters, turning to leave. To escape. Root snags her hand before she can.

“It was my birthday, the code,” she mumbles, and Shaw cocks her head, confused. “On Hanna’s phone. It was my birthday. March 22nd.”

“Your birthday’s on June 26th, it’s on Sunday,” Shaw says, confused.

“I, uh. I changed it. When my mom died. I was only seventeen,” Root shrugs helplessly, and it takes Shaw a minute to figure out what she means. Seventeen, no guardian. Foster care. So Root booted her birthday backwards far enough to age her out of the system. Because Root is clever, and brilliant, and dangerous, and doesn’t give a fuck about rules. It’s kind of hot, for a moment, and then that moment crashes in on itself, under the unpleasant realisation that Shaw didn’t know something fundamental about Root. A cold feeling dribbles down her neck. Root isn’t supposed to lie to her.

“Oh.” There doesn’t seem to be much else to say. Shaw swallows against the indignant protest that Root’s birthday has to be on Sunday, because Shaw already has carefully selected presents wrapped up in her bag, and they’ve already sprung for a suite in a nice hotel in Brighton, and they’re not just celebrating Pride in style, but Root’s birthday as well—complete with jokes about how Root is so unbelievably gay her birthday is on Pride weekend—and that Zoe’s been planning stuff for weeks.

“Sorry,” Root lifts her shoulder, face blank, “I didn’t think about it. Birthdays were never a big thing for me, you know?” 

“Okay,” Shaw doesn’t know what to say, or do, or even how they got from the story of Root’s best friend being murdered in an alley—Root thinking that’s  _ her fault— _ to Shaw being uncomfortable that she didn’t know when Root’s birthday actually was. She thinks it’s probably stupid and unreasonable of her to be annoyed about this right now, which somehow makes it worse. 

“I’m gonna...” she gestures at the bedroom.  __

Root nods, rubs her hand over her face, “I need to finish this, and then I have to run it over to my client’s offices.” She smooths her face back into professional mode, which she usually only does in front of clients, not just when speaking about them.

Shaw understands defense mechanisms. Root is hurting, so she’s hiding. She’ll come back to Shaw, she has to. Shaw lives here now, anyway, so it’s not like Root can hide forever. It suddenly seems important to touch her in some small way and make sure they’re not actually fighting. She reaches out and tucks a stray curl of Root’s hair behind her ear. Root presses into her hand. 

Feeling a little steadier, Shaw sweeps the weird and unfamiliar  _ feelings  _ away to be turned around and examined later, at her leisure and gets back with the program. “Want me to come with you?” She scuffs her foot into the hardwood, thinking they should get a rug for under Root’s feet when she’s working. She has a tendency to kick off her slippers by accident when crossing her legs, so engrossed by her work that she doesn’t notice. She’s always getting in bed with cold feet after working for hours. 

“Naw, that’s okay. I just need to reinstall it on site and make sure everyone understands exactly who and who isn’t allowed access.” 

“Alright. Well.” Words have never been Shaw’s best friend, and Root might be closing down, shutting her face and voice off, but Shaw knows another way to communicate. She slides her hand back into Root’s hair, tugs hard enough to make her flinch and cause a flash of sex and violence to sharpen her face back into familiar lines.

Shaw leans down and presses her mouth against Root’s slightly open one, soft, trying for wordless communication. That it’s okay for Root to be hurting, and push her away, but not too far. 

Root breathes onto her lip for a moment and then kisses her back, slow and salty. When Shaw straightens up they’re both breathing a little harder. 

“Okay?” Shaw asks, poking Root in the shin gently with her toes, hoping Root understands she means ‘are we okay?’ ‘are you okay?’ 

“Okay.” Root holds her eyes for a moment, looks like herself.  
  
Shaw nods, and slips her hand clear of Root’s hair, drags her finger over Root’s shoulder in a little star, and then turns to go and hide the paintings out of sight. She hopes they’ll be out of mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content:** Hanna was killed when she was walking home from a club, in an attack/mugging type situation. Root was the person who found her, which is one of the reasons the whole thing is so very hard for her. If you skip to the line you can avoid the direct discussion of it. 
> 
> Random PSA because apparently people don't know still. 
> 
> If you are an author you don't HAVE to use the horrible 'Samantha Groves' tag, your work will STILL show up in the POI tags, the main relationship tags and everything. If you just use Root/Sameen Shaw, and then people like me who really can't fucking handle the change don't have to look at it :) I'd appreciate it hugely, and it doesn't stop people from seeing your fic- it just shows the archive you are also not a Fan of them forcing that name on her like Harold Fucking Finch.
> 
> I tag only as Root, Root/Sameen Shaw, and all my fics are still in the main listings so I know this to be true. Please do not tacitly approve disrespecting people's chosen identity like that.


	5. What Good is One Glove, Without the Other?

Root puts her headphones back on, cranks the volume and drowns herself in code. She buries her confusion and distress down in lines of perfect, neat math and when she finishes fixing the program she knows it’s better, more efficient than it was the first time she handed it off. It leaves a satisfying pride in her which helps numb the aching feeling of betrayal and hurt. It feels better, exerting control over something, bending it to her will. 

When she saves the program and takes her headphones off, she can hear Shaw in the bedroom, drawers opening and shutting, the beat of something angst ridden and dramatic throbbing around a voice that alternates between screaming and crooning. Very emo. 

She pads over to the bedroom door and opens it, leaning in the doorway. Shaw’s singing along, something about a person wandering. She turns and catches Root’s eyes, and the singer yells, “I try but I can’t remember, the colour of your eyes, just the shape of your dress,” and Root manages a little grin for the amount of teenage angst Shaw is currently projecting. She wonders, suddenly, if living together is gonna be too small for Shaw, if she’s going to be okay with nowhere to escape to. She makes a mental note to think about that further at a later date. Maybe Shaw needs a dog friend.

Shaw’s mouth twitches in response, and she flops on the bed, “Mewithoutyou are one of the most underrated Christian bands in the history of the world,” she remarks lightly. 

“It will never not be funny that you like Christian music,” Root replies, eagerly accepting the lighter topic. The paintings are no longer on the floor, and neither is Shaw’s art stuff, so clearly she found a place to stow it away. Root crawls on top of Shaw on the bed, slowly enough that Shaw could squirm away if she wanted. She doesn’t. Root presses her face into Shaw’s throat, feels the movement of her swallowing, the softness of her breathing. 

After a moment, Shaw moves her arm and rests her hand at the small of Root’s back, she strokes the curve of Root’s spine with her thumb for a moment. 

Shaw breathes into Root’s hair and it kind of tickles, so Root nips at her throat gently, resulting in a sharp intake of breath. Shaw’s stomach muscles clench delightfully against Root’s chest when she does it again before regretfully rolling off, “hold that thought, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” It’s almost nine, and Root doubts she’ll be back before eleven. They need to be at the airport at eight a.m, but they can sleep on the plane if they stay up late banging. They probably need to, lose themselves in each other for a while. She’s kind of pissed off, for a moment, that they even found the paintings. She wanted to have a happy, exciting moving in day, with time for bangs and cozy, not to have to do some last minute work—even if it does pay for both of their vacations plus some—and to have a bunch of unwanted memories and mystery thrust upon them. Life's a bitch sometimes.

She sighs, squirming off the bed, and Shaw puts her hands behind her head, eyeing Root with a complicated expression, “you sure you don’t want me to drive you?” 

Root shakes her head, “nah, no point, you can finish up here, at least, maybe do our online check in? My passport’s still in the important things drawer.”

Shaw nods and Root looks at her for a second longer, contemplating the fact that Shaw  _ lives  _ here now. Not ‘visits here a lot’, or ‘stays most nights’, but straight up just lives here. Maybe they should have gotten a new place together, but Root thinks they’ll be okay figuring it out. Shaw’s been one foot in for months, and Root’s felt like she’s lived at the Casa during the semester. She thinks it’s gonna be good. They're good together.

She forces her mind into work mode as she heads into the living room, kicks her slippers off and pulls on her converse, no socks, which she’ll probably regret but she honestly just can’t be fucked to fetch any. A moment later Shaw slides up next to her, hands her a pair of socks without saying anything, her eyebrow twitching slightly. Root snorts, sits down on a stool and puts her shoes on like an adult, with socks. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Shaw grabs a beer out of the fridge, salutes her with it, “see you in a bit.”  

Root nods and heads out, running through what she has to do for her clients on site. The more prepared she can be, the less time it should take. 

 

***

 

Of course, nothing is ever simple, and it’s pushing midnight before she finally slides her key into the apartment door, scrubbing her free hand over her face tiredly. 

Shaw’s on the couch, an animated movie on the big screen, a blanket over her legs. She makes a weird face at Root before she can say hi, waving a hand frantically and easing her way off the sofa. It’s very confusing, but Root takes her shoes off carefully, cocking an eyebrow in question. 

When Shaw is out of the way of the couch, Root can see there’s someone still there, a very small someone, who was apparently asleep on Shaw’s lap by the looks of things. 

“... Uh, Shaw, what is that?” She hisses, totally confused.

Shaw grimaces, “that... is a child.”

“Why is it in our house?” Root inquires, trying to keep her tone light.

“I adopted it. Isn’t that what you do? Move in, adopt...” Shaw deadpans, and Root pinches her hip none-to-softly. 

Shaw squirms away from her hand, leaning on the kitchen counter, “your... Our neighbour’s mom went into hospital, and she couldn’t get hold of their dad, or whatever. That’s Elaine, she’s five, and Joshua, who is seven, is asleep in our bed.” She shrugs helplessly, “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Root groans and rubs her temples, her earlier headache reasserting itself with a vengeance. “This is why it’s better to not talk to people, or be nice, ever,” she mumbles, “did you tell her we’re leaving for Europe at six a.m. tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, she said she’d be over at five, or someone else would be. I didn’t know how to say no, she was crying,” Shaw waves her hand at her face for emphasis. 

Suddenly, the bundle on the couch wriggles, and just about falls off, and then a tousled little head pokes its way out of the blanket, “mommy?”

Root is overcome with the urge to cry .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to anyone who got the music reference and the title, I'm unpacking to mwy RIGHT NOW. Be still my beating, emo, teenage heart.


	6. Gonna Get No Sleep Tonight, NO SLEEP TONIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I am going to be singing the She's The Man Soundtrack all day, and I blame that anon on tumblr :D

Shaw eyes Root nervously, worried she’s going to collapse, but really there was  _ nothing  _ Shaw could have done to dissuade the neighbour—Mariana—from shoving her son through the door, physically handing the girl to Shaw and babbling a torrent of thank yous and explanations as she basically ran for it. And while Shaw might not  _ like  _ children, she’s not going to leave two small people in their corridor on their own, is she? 

So, she’d plopped the girl down on the sofa, and asked them if they were hungry.  They’d said yes, so Shaw started making some pasta, getting the kids to help rip up spinach. It seemed to go okay, and she’d put them both in the bed after they’d eaten, but Elaine had shuffled out crying after not very long. Finding that Joshua was snoring away, Shaw thought it was better to leave him be, so she’d bundled Elaine up on the sofa and put on a movie. Eventually the kid had stopped crying and gone to sleep.

“Not your mom, Elaine, this is Root. You’ve met Root, remember?” Shaw fills the awkward silence and Elaine draws in a huge, shuddering breath. 

“Yuh.” It’s small and sad and Shaw is all twisted up inside from their horrible night, and the look on Root’s face.

“Let’s put you back to bed, kiddo,” she mutters, turning away from Root and shuffling back to the couch. Elaine puts her arms up obediently and Shaw swings her up. She’s little and light and settles on Shaw’s hip easily, putting her head on Shaw’s shoulder and eyeing Root suspiciously. Shaw guesses they’re friends now, in the face of this new adult.

“Kay.” Elaine hides her face in Shaw’s neck, puffing sleepy little breaths out on Shaw’s throat, and behind her she finally,  _ finally _ , hears the sound of Root taking her shoes off. She’d been somewhat prepared for Root to just turn around and walk right out, go to a hotel or something. Shaw relaxes a little and lets go of the speech she’s been rehearsing about throwing money at problems and how Shaw lives here too now, so if she wants to let neighbour children stay over that should be okay even if they  _ are  _ about to leave on a trip. 

Joshua has sprawled out like a starfish, but he doesn’t stir when Shaw rolls him to one side of the king-sized bed and plops Elaine down next to him.

“Alrighty, we’ll be outside, but your mom will be here soon so you should get some sleep before she gets back,” Shaw tells Elaine quietly, and the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl nods, yawning and snuggling down.

Shaw pats her head gently cause that seems like the thing to do, and waits a minute in the doorway, partly to avoid Root and partly because Elaine might be out of bed again any minute. 

Eventually she can't avoid the situation any further, and she closes the bedroom door most of the way before padding down the corridor.

Root’s curled up on the sofa, an unlit joint in one hand. Shaw pads over and leans on the arm of the couch.

She wants to say sorry again, maybe, or that she cares about Root. She feels like this is when normal people would offer up ‘I love you’, as an excuse, an apology, but Shaw doesn’t have that in her so she runs her hand down Root’s shoulder instead, “wanna go outside and smoke that?”

“If we’re sleeping on the couch I figure it’s a good idea,” Root mumbles, but there's a tiny edge of a grin detectable in her voice and Shaw relaxes further.

“Well, I fit on the couch; maybe you should just take the floor, so at least one of us gets a good sleep,” she jokes, and Root looks up in outrage before she sees the look on Shaw’s face and snorts. 

“Bully.”

“You know it,” Shaw straightens up and offers Root her hand, pulling her up.

They squeeze out onto the balcony, leaving the door open a crack in case the kids wake up, and Root lights the joint with the lighter that lives on the wall. When she passes it over to Shaw, Shaw lifts it in a little salute, “cheers to our first night living together,” she says dryly.

“Eh, I figure we just don’t count it? We’re outta here for six weeks, so let’s say this was just a sleepover gone awry and start again when we get back?” Root leans her shoulder against Shaw, a spot of warmth in the cool night air. Shaw leans back.

“Sounds good. Tonight was ridiculous.”

“And we have...” Root checks her phone “...four and a half hours before hopefully Mariana gets back to pick the unexpected guests up. What do we do if she doesn’t come back in time?” 

“Uh, call the police? Ask a different neighbour to watch them? What about Caleb, he seems like he’d be good with children.” Shaw is basing this solely on the fact that Joss is good with children and Caleb and Joss are dating.    
  
“Eh, probably there’s like an emergency babysitter or something we can call. I’ll google in the morning if we haven’t heard from Mariana I guess.” Root takes another hit on the joint and passes it back to Shaw.

They finish smoking in fairly companionable silence, which is better than the stressed out angst of earlier. Shaw's feeling pretty fatalistic about everything right now, like maybe finding the paintings will turn out to be a good thing in the long run, if it helps Root process what happened to Hanna, maybe even let go of some of the guilt she’s clearly been dragging around. Knowing what she knows now, so much of Root's behaviour, her panic when Harold got jumped, her unwillingness to let people—even Shaw—in makes sense. Shaw's taken enough psych classes to think that Root would probably get a big, fat PTSD sticker slapped on her if she was the sort of person to go to counselling.

They end up hauling the couch cushions onto the floor and improvising a mattress, which they then throw a sheet over and curl up on. It’s not the worst place Shaw has ever slept, and she lets Root position them into whatever is cozy for her—which turns out to be Root lying mostly on top of Shaw, face pressed into her shoulderblade and legs wound together—because Root is bad at sleeping and Shaw is really good at it. 

It’s not too awful, although the living area is not in the slightest bit lightproof, and if Root hadn’t stirred with dawn, they definitely would both have been woken up anyway by the crashing sound from the bedroom that fully yanks them from their half-asleep grindy cozy. 

Shaw tries to roll out of bed, but Root is still on top of her, and they both roll off the mattress. A wail comes from the bedroom, followed by a shout for help, and Shaw shoves Root out of the way so she can race for the commotion.

She barrels into the room, greeted by the sight of Elaine, bundled in blankets and on the floor, face screwed up in tears, and Joshua frantically trying to untangle her from the bedding.

“He... he... he pushed me offfa da bedddd,” the girl sobs, and Shaw’s adrenaline crashes as she sorts the distressed noises into ‘not actually in terrible pain.’

“I didn’t mean to!” Joshua yelps, moving out the way as Shaw takes over rescuing Elaine from the blanket muddle.

Root makes an exhausted, exasperated sounding growl behind them, “alright, Joshua, get out of the way, uh, why don’t we go and make breakfast?” She sounds incredibly unsure of herself, and it’s a little bit funny. 

Shaw manages to get Elaine out of the mess of sheets and check her for injury, although she’s sure from the way the kid is behaving that she’s actually fine.  “Good idea, Root. Why don’t you show Joshua the cereal and he can pick one for Elaine as well.” Shaw helps Elaine stand up and then heaves the blankets back up onto the bed, checking the time on the alarm clock. It’s four fifteen. Their international flight is going to be  _ thrilling  _ she can already tell. Oh well, at least they have other people to function for them if necessary. “And Elaine and I will find some cartoons,” she announces, because while she’s aware that watching too much TV is bad for kids, she feels like the circumstances allow for it this time.

Elaine nods tearfully, her lower lip still trembling, and Shaw sighs internally, “need a lift, kiddo?” She inquires, offering her hands, and Elaine nods again, so Shaw hauls her up and heads for the living room. Root follows after her with Joshua trailing just behind. He’s a nerdy looking kid, thin and lanky with his hair all sticking up in mad directions, he and Root look weirdly related from the back, all elbows and bones. 

Soon they have bowls of cereal on their laps, and Spongebob on the TV, and Shaw takes advantage of the blissful quiet to have a small catnap, leaning against the sofa. 


	7. Scrub Me Like One of Your Dirty Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut under the line, nothing dramatic. Vanilla for them.

Root does a little minor hacking while the kids watch cartoons and Shaw makes little snuffling sleep noises that drain the tension out of Root’s spine. It doesn’t take her long to track down Mariana’s relatives, find a sister who lives in the city who’s clearly on good terms judging by their facebook activity, and she sneaks out from under Shaw’s leg to call her.

It only takes a minute to establish that the sister, Dani, is already on her way over, and is very grateful for the impromptu babysitting. Root is immensely relieved that they’ll at least be out of the house on time, if totally exhausted from about three hours sleep.

She leaves Shaw napping as long as possible while she makes them sandwiches to scoff at the airport and makes sure they have their electronics charged, passports packed, and all the other little last minute trip preparations sorted. It’s easier while she’s moving, while she’s occupied. Her mind keeps veering away from the Hanna related events of last night, but she can tell that her subconscious is still processing, sorting through information and she doesn’t want to be.

Determinedly shoving a sweater down the back of a bulging satchel that she’ll use as carry on, she forces herself to recite pi as far as she can in the hopes of blanking her mind out properly. It doesn’t really work. She hopes Zoe—the only Team member who has friends in Brighton—will be able to procure some weed for them post haste, because right now it’s the only way she can imagine sleeping for the next month or so. 

A sharp knock at the door snaps her out of her mathematical musing and disturbs Shaw, who jerks upright and blinks confusedly, wiping drool off her chin. 

Elaine jumps off the sofa and races for the door, trying and failing to open it. Root slopes after her and unlocks the deadbolt above the kid’s head, yawning as she opens the door.

A dark-haired woman in a police uniform looks on sternly, “I have an arrest warrant for Elaine and Joshua Gomez, charges of being way too cute...”

“Aunty Dyke!” Elaine yells, trying to climb her like a tree.

The cop hoists her up easily, over her shoulder, and grins at Root, “Hi, I’m actually Dani. Shorty here likes to call me that after a slight miscommunication with her mom one time. I mean, it’s not  _ inaccurate _ ...but it does make for some awkward moments,” she shrugs a shoulder, offers Root her hand.

“Catchy,” Root murmurs, shaking her hand, “thanks for coming to get them. Joshua,” she adds, slightly more loudly, and a groan comes from the sofa area.

“But the best bit’s just coming...” it’s followed by a squeak, and when Root glances over her shoulder, Shaw is poking Joshua with her toes until he stands up, “fine,” he grumbles, trudging towards his aunt and yawning, “thanks for looking after us,” he tacks on after a sharply raised eyebrow from Dani.

Shaw also pads over, and Root doesn’t miss the rapidly controlled downflick of Dani’s eyeline when Shaw rucks up her tshirt to scratch her belly. She smirks. Aunty Dyke indeed. She’s cute, in a no-nonsense sort of way.

Shaw nods, ruffling his hair, “you’re welcome, Joshua. We’ll see you when we get back.” 

Now that their departure is imminent Root’s feeling a lot more charitable towards these urchins and she nods agreement to Shaw’s sentiment as Elaine wriggles around on Dani’s shoulder until she can wave at them.

“Byee,” she hollers, and Dani winces, rubbing her ear.

“We’ll get out of your hair. Thanks again, we owe you one,” she tips them both a salute that makes her about five times hotter, and motions Joshua out of the house. She grins over her shoulder as she lets the kids in the apartment next door and Shaw leans into Root’s side as she shuts the door behind their unexpected visitors.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower, wanna get soapy with me?” Her hand is warm on Root’s hip.

Root glances at the digital clock on the oven and snorts quietly, “taxi’ll be here in half an hour, Sameen...” Shaw looks up at her, bats her eyelashes, and Root relents, “but I do love a challenge.” And a distraction, she adds to herself.

* * *

Shaw’s tshirt hits the deck before Root’s finished the second part of her sentence, and her boxers follow as she nips at Root’s neck. She urges her in the direction of the bathroom with soft hands on her hips, glancing up with her lower lip trapped between white teeth.

Root leans down to seize Shaw’s mouth, it’s challenging to kiss and walk, but they manage, and they only rebound off one wall before making it onto the cold tiles. Shaw makes quick work of pulling Root’s plaid boxers—and yes, she’s well aware of how capital-G-Gay they are—down around her ankles, and she steps out of them without releasing Shaw’s mouth, fumbling behind her for the power switch and getting her arm soaked when the shower springs on.

Shaw snickers, dragging Root’s shirt up and they break the kiss to get the offending item over her head, pressing back against each other immediately. 

They step over the lip of the shower together, and Shaw yanks the glass door closed behind them. Root wastes no time in maneuvering them around so Shaw is leaning against the wall. 

The water heats rapidly, going from a mild chill to hot enough for steam to curl around them, and Shaw makes a complaining noise as Root pulls away from her mouth. The noise quickly turns into an arousal filled gasp as Root slides her hand around Shaw’s neck.

Her head falls back as Root digs her thumb into the very last shadow of a bruise from their recent night of epic sex, and Root hums in appreciation as she looks down at Shaw. She’s damp from the spray, water beaded in her hair where it hasn’t quite soaked in yet, and her eyes are closed against the droplets pattering on her cheekbones. Root presses bodily against her, her nipples dragging over Shaw’s slick chest sending pleasurable little sparks through her, warmth coiling and tingling in her belly. 

Shaw tilts her chin up and Root smirks, leaning down until their lips are almost touching. Shaw’s part with a sigh, hot breath tickling over the corner of Root’s mouth. Her thumb digs a little harder into the heated, slick skin of Shaw’s throat and Shaw’s tongue darts out to wet her own lip, but catches Root’s in the process. Desire clenches in Root’s stomach and she follows the path of Shaw’s tongue with her own before biting Shaw’s lip hard and then pulling away to a small sound of protest.

It turns rapidly into a moan as Root ducks down and sucks as much of Shaw’s breast into her mouth as possible, scooping the soft tissue up with her hand and squeezing. Shaw makes a garbled sound, spreads her legs and lets her head bang against the wall.

They don’t have time for a lot of foreplay, so Root slides her hand between Shaw’s thighs, drags red lines behind her fingernails up the inside of one, and then cups Shaw’s pussy gently while leaving teeth marks on her chest. 

Shaw brings her hand up and rests it lightly on Root’s hip, clearly not sure if she’s allowed to touch, and Root pushes into the contact so she knows it’s okay. Shaw squeezes gratefully, and Root slides down her body onto her knees.

When she looks up, blinking past the water drumming down on them, Shaw’s opened her eyes to look down at her, desire flushing her features. Root smirks up at her, knowing the mere sight of Root getting on her knees for Shaw is enough to send her dizzy and desperate, and they hold eye contact as Root presses her mouth to Shaw’s pussy. Water streams down Shaw’s body into Root’s face, so she can’t keep her eyes open for long, but she uses one hand to shield her nose so she can breathe against the water. 

Shaw tentatively slides her hand into Root’s hair, waiting to be told no, but Root leans into her hand and Shaw groans and lifts her hips into her mouth.

It’s hard to taste her through the water, but Root pushes close, rubs against Shaw’s entrance with her fingertips and drags the flavour of her up around her clit so she can suck it clear. Shaw shivers and arches against her, and Root relents, sucking her fingers into her mouth before pushing two inside with no more teasing.

Shaw lifts up onto her tiptoes with the force of Root’s first thrust, groans her name and fists her hand in Root’s hair, pushing the very edge of acceptable violence. Root smirks against her and nips her clit gently in remonstration. Shaw loosens her grip a little, slamming her free hand against the tiles, and Root brings her to orgasm with messy licks and knowing curls of her fingers against Shaw’s swollen gspot.  

Shaw slips down the wall, her legs shaking, and Root clambers to her feet, supporting the limp body of her lover and flexing her knees where they’ve lost feeling due to the hard tiles. As soon as she’s sure Shaw isn’t gonna fall over, she grabs the body wash and starts rubbing gentle, soapy circles down her brown torso.

“What about you?” Shaw heaves her eyes open, looking for all the world like she’s about to fall asleep on her feet, and Root urges her around so she can wash her back.

“You can suck me off once we’ve gotten through security,” she smirks, tucking Shaw’s hair over her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the bared skin, “I’d have done you quicker if I wanted to get off as well.” 

“Mmm,” Shaw hums, grabbing the shampoo, “it’s a date.”


	8. Suck Me Like One of Your Smuggler Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Minor trouble with TSA agents. Smut under the line. Public sex, exhibitionism, blowjobs, sex in a bathroom stall.

The taxi arrives while Root is still blow-drying her hair. Fortunately, she’s already dressed and otherwise ready to go, so she just hoists it into a messy ponytail while Shaw grabs both their big bags.

Knowing it’s useless to point out that she’s perfectly capable of carrying her own backpack, Root grabs her laptop bag—containing her chromebook and one of her more powerful machines, able to carry an image of her home setup so she can work on even very difficult projects if necessary—and the smaller bag with their important stuff, and follows Shaw out the front door. 

They jog down the stairs and are greeted by Zoe hanging out the window of the taxi with a clown wig on and some huge, glittery glasses perched on her nose. “Viva Las Vegas,” she hollers at them as Shaw stuffs their bags in the trunk. Root pokes her in the glasses until she retracts her head, and then opens the door, sliding in on the same side as Joss, opposite Harry, Zoe and John.

“Wrong continent, Zoe, we’re going to Europe.. Euuuoooorrrrooope,” she teases as she clicks her belt on. Shaw crawls in over her, practically on her lap until she manages to slot into the middle, wriggling to make space.

“Details, my fine friend, details,” Zoe snickers, immediately propping her bare feet in Root’s lap, “look at my pedicure!”

“Ooh, very nice,” Root inspects it, pink with gold tips, and the taxi driver pulls out of her apartment building.

“Everyone got their passports?” Joss inquires, ever responsible, and Shaw nods.

“Yeah, and about seven different computers,” she teases Root, nudging her with a shoulder.

“Two, and one barely counts,” Root raises an eyebrow at her, and John smirks.

“Harold bought three,” he says, proudly, like this is an achievement of some kind.

Finch rolls his eyes, protesting, “one of them is a  _ kindle _ , not a computer.”

“Oh, I have my kindle too,” Root pokes John with her toes, “definitely doesn’t count.”

The rest of the airport journey passes in planning for their first week in the U.K., Shaw falling asleep on Root’s shoulder—even through her protests that she’s not sleepy—and Root telling the team about their ridiculous adventures in babysitting. She determinedly pushes the intruding thoughts of Hanna’s paintings to the very deepest, darkest depths of her mind as the warm weight of Shaw holds her gently against the window, and the rest of the team make jokes about not expecting them to start a family so soon.

By the time they’ve checked their bags, Root’s flagging, tiredness pulling on her brain and making her feel slow and sticky as she goes through security. Shaw’s behind her, but the rest of the team have already made it through and are waiting just past the conveyor belts. 

After Root’s scanned by an agent, they ask her if the grey satchel coming through the machine is hers, and she nods sleepily, wanting nothing more than to get to her gate so she can have a nap before they board, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

“Please step over here, miss,” the uniformed woman asks her, sternly, and Root obliges, opening her bag when asked to. She obediently unzips the front pocket when the main pocket reveals nothing but sweaters, cables, kindles and an empty water bottle. 

The TSA agent rummages through the smaller pouch, and Root catches Shaw’s eye as she gets scanned, not really paying attention. 

“Miss, miss, could you please take out the items in this pocket,” the woman asks, and Root suppresses her automatic grimace at being called ‘miss’. She swallows her irritation and starts unpacking the front pouch. Shaw’s paperback copy of Golden Son, their phone chargers, eyemasks, earplugs, and a nice, flexible pack-n-play follows. 

“We’re, uh, going to have to send this item back through the scanner alone,” the agent declares, managing to keep an admirably straight face.

“It’s a dildo,” Root deadpans, too tired to be bothered with niceties, “it doesn’t do any tricks, but go ahead.” 

“Could you please place the item in this tray,” the agent continues, and Root can see another agent losing the battle to sniggers over her shoulder. She cracks her neck and picks up the dildo, not in the least bit embarrassed. She can actually hear Zoe losing her shit behind her, and then Shaw’s next to her, calming Root just by being there.

“Well, it does  _ some  _ tricks,” Shaw murmurs as the lady runs the dildo back through the scanner, it goes in and out twice before rolling through—maybe the flexible spine gave the machine some trouble—and the agent strides back over.

“Thank you for your cooperation, have a great trip,” she says, with no discernible inflection, but Root is _excellent_ at picking out subverbal signals and she can see the woman’s a little off balance, so she winks at her.

“Will do, thanks,” she drawls, Texas fully staining her voice, and she watches, gratified, as a slight flush inches out from under the agent’s starched blue collar. 

Shaw snorts quietly and grabs her belt, tugging gently as Root packs her bag back up. She leans up to murmur in Root’s ear, definitely loud enough for the blushing agent to hear, “what was that about me sucking you off once we’re through security?” 

Root smirks, feeling much more alert. “Alright babe, we’ve got forty five minutes,” she starts walking towards the team, “we’ll meet you guys at the gate, okay?”

Zoe, who is still laughing sporadically over the whole scene with the TSA agent, leans on Joss’ shoulder and pants for air while choking out, “sure, sure, we’ll just be over there, not smuggling sex toys through customs, don’t mind us.”

Shaw gives her a little poke in the side, smirking, “we weren’t smuggling, we were perfectly up front about our sex toys. Most of them are in the checked bags though...”

“Please, spare me the details,” Joss teases, manhandling Zoe towards the gate.

“I could stand to hear a little more,” Zoe calls over her shoulder, still laughing.

Root smirks, woken up quite nicely by the whole thing, and slides her hand down Shaw’s back, stopping  _ just  _ short of what would be wholly inappropriate for public, urging her in the direction of the walkway. She declines to veer off to the nearest bathroom, just in case the agent decides to report them for unseemly airport conduct.

They find the next one along the way, and dawdle by the sinks until the bathroom has no one waiting. Shaw dashes into the end stall once they’re alone. Root’s already unzipping as she follows. 

* * *

“Knees, sugar, eyes on me,” she murmurs almost silently, swiftly pushing the dildo into her Rodeoh harness worn especially for the occasion—she loves that it’s comfortable enough to travel in. Shaw’s eyes are big and dark looking up at her, the florescent lighting casting hard shadows under her cheekbones.

Root leans against the door, fists her dick idly and raises an eyebrow at Shaw who drops down immediately. She inhales sharply and leans forwards, reaching up and rubbing her thumb over the head of Root’s dick. 

As good as she looks on her knees, tentatively exploring with her fingertips, they don’t have time for her to ease in. Root winds her free hand into Shaw’s hair, tugging deliberately until Shaw wraps her lips around Root’s dick and swallows her down. Root sighs and relaxes into it, flexing her knees and arching her hips forward. Shaw obediently relaxes, letting Root push deeper, inhaling sharply through her nose and making a wet little choked noise.

Root slides her fingers under the waistband of her Rodeohs, jarring the dick as she finds her clit with her fingertips, and Shaw makes a growling sound of approval, reaching under Root’s cock with her hand and running her fingers gently over the back of Root’s as she touches herself behind the dick.

Root rubs hard, deliberate circles on herself while drinking Shaw in with her eyes. The bumping sensation of Shaw pushing against her adds to the stimulation and her pleasure builds hot and sharp in her lower belly. Liquid heat slicks under her fingers at the sight of Shaw on her knees, eyes sparkling and lips stretched and spread. 

She wants more. Groaning, Root pushes Shaw back, yanks her Rodeohs down with one hand and pulls Shaw back against her, mouth hot and soft against her throbbing clit. She lets her head fall back and hit the door as Shaw eagerly sucks on her, runs her tongue down into Root and makes a quiet, needy noise into her cunt. 

The opening and closing of other stall doors, flushing, the sound of the taps and the dryer going off barely register to Root as Shaw moans quietly and rubs against her clit, sliding fingers up Root’s thigh to tease at her until Root taps once on her head for yes and she pushes inside. 

Root clenches down, swallowing the noise that wants to burst out of her at the sensation of Shaw’s finger nudging at her gspot. Penetration is a weird thing for Root. Physically, yeah, she can enjoy the stimulation, but usually only from a position of power, and always for the purpose of getting her to orgasm, not for the sensation in and of itself. With Shaw she’s been much more willing to give it up like that right from day one. She figures it’s something to do with how much she trusts Shaw, and how much Shaw understands her need for control. Her general discomfort with penetration is probably all tied into the dysphoria she sometimes experiences, but, regardless, she lets Shaw fuck her most of the time, and it feels good when she does.

Shaw knows just how to move inside her to get her spinning out of her own body, the pushing pressure increasing the arousal that swirls and builds inside until she’s coming apart against Shaw’s mouth, on her finger, collapsing against the flimsy door and trying not to breathe too loudly as Shaw gentles her touches, pulls out and sits back on her heels, looking smug. 

Root exhales and rolls her eyes, feeling a little loopy, “when can I be asleep?” 

Shaw gets to her feet, wiping her hand over her mouth before bending down to pull the dick out of Root’s undies and redress her, not something she usually requires help with, “we start boarding in like ten minutes, so hopefully very soon. You okay?”

“Sleepy,” Root can’t keep the whine out of her voice, the orgasm turning the earlier exhaustion to lead in her bones.

“Yeah, I got you, moosh. Come on,” Shaw’s hands are gentle as she buttons Root’s pants up and stows the dick. 

“Yeah, you do,” Root mumbles, fried, and letting Shaw steer her out to the sinks. “You really do.”


	9. Can You Be Jetlagged Before You've Even Taken Off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some groping under the line. If you are a 0 sexual content person, I'd jump over that, and also... the entire next chapter.

They don’t have to wait around at the gate, thank goodness, because Root is barely capable of standing now, a floppy mess that Shaw steers over to the team and leans against John—he’s the tallest and while Shaw would love to be able to have Root nap on her shoulder, it’s not feasible while upright. However, once they’re onto the plane, she makes sure Root is sat between her and Zoe, and as soon as they’re in the air she squirms them into a cozy sitting position. Root’s legs end up slung over Zoe’s lap onto Joss, and passed-out Root herself is carefully tucked under Shaw’s arm. 

“She has to drive when we land,” Shaw points out as her stupid friends make ‘whipped’ faces at her, “we can all sleep in the car.”

“Well, not all of us,” Zoe wraps a blanket over Root’s knees and tucks her in carefully, while John snaps a picture of the bunch of them with his iPhone from across the aisle. “Someone has to be on the back of the bike.”

“ _I_ will be on the back of the bike. And it's not the same anyway, it’s okay to be a sleepy passenger,” Shaw defends herself, because obviously Root needs to be well rested in order to drive safely, and obviously it doesn’t matter as much if the rest of them are tired too. Anyway, everyone else got a good night’s sleep, so they can suck it up. If Root can get a decent sleep in now it might make up for their disturbed night. 

“Sure, Shaw,” Zoe teases goodnaturedly, letting Root squirm sideways. 

“Hmph,” Shaw ignores her, grabs her headphones and starts scrolling through the inflight entertainment. They all end up watching Jupiter Rising together, because movies are more fun in a group. Root is a heavy, comfortable weight against Shaw’s chest, and she sleeps through the entire film, plus the one after—some Sandra Bullock flick that looked promisingly silly but turned out to be a fairly serious political drama, much to Shaw’s disappointment—and only jerks awake when Shaw takes their lunches. Shaw can feel her heartbeat hammering in her chest and she hopes it's from an abrupt awakening, not a nightmare.

“Whazz the time?” Root mumbles, pulling off her sleepmask and putting her gel earplugs back in their case while wriggling off Zoe and Joss as they endeavour not to drop their trays of food. 

“You’ve been asleep for two movies, we're like halfway there, ” Zoe informs her, unwrapping her foil-packed mac’n’cheese, “because we are the world’s best friends who allowed you to make long lasting cozy on us. My leg’s been dead for like an hour,” she grimaces, rubbing her thigh under the table. 

“Put it on my tab,” Root slurs, leaning her head on Shaw’s shoulder unhelpfully, while Shaw sets her tray in front of her. She pokes at it without much gusto until Shaw frowns at her, and then she morosely makes more of an effort. 

“Wanna sit by the window and sleep upright for a bit?” Shaw enquires, her mouth full of breadroll and butter.

“Eh,” Root shrugs noncommittally, and Joss leans around Zoe.

“Even I know Root can’t sleep in less-than-optimal conditions,” she points out, waving her fork, “I’ll switch with Zoe if she’s too squashed to have a Root sprawl after lunch.”

“Naw, thanks J.C, I don’t mind. There are far worse things to have on top of you than Root,” Zoe smirks. 

Shaw snickers, idly chasing the last bit of sauce around her plastic tray. “And now when you make that joke, you know you’re right.”

Joss sighs dramatically, “John, switch seats with me, they’re back on their ‘wonderful night together’,” she complains, clearly teasing.

“I’d rather spend the rest of the trip on the wing,” John replies placidly, eating his cheesecake in small, delicate forkfuls.

“If you were on the wing, I could sit over there and Root could have an extra seat,” Zoe grins at him, picking up her tiny slice of cheesecake and then eating the whole thing in one bite. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Shaw deadpans, “his fat head would destroy the delicate balance of the aircraft and we’d all die horrible ocean deaths.”

“I hate you,” John declares cheerfully, finishing his dessert and packing his tray up neatly before putting Harold’s on top of it and folding his boyfriend’s tray table away in an obnoxious display of chivalry. Shaw pulls a face. Meanwhile, Root has finished pushing her food around and is blinking long and slow, clearly still exhausted.

Zoe snickers as she helpfully takes all their trays and piles them in front of an exasperated Joss before urging Root back around and across their laps.

The rest of the flight passes in boredom, as they mostly do,. Shaw watches a couple of shit episodes of C.S.I and then gives up on the provided media, getting Joss to squirm out from under Root's feet and fetch her book from the overhead locker. 

Fortunately, Golden Son is just as amazing as anticipated, and she settles into the space battles with pleasure, Ragnar is a fucking _legend_. Root only stirs to rearrange a bit a few times, but otherwise remains unconscious for an impressive amount of the journey, only waking up when the seatbelt signs come back on because Shaw makes her. 

A huge coffee for everyone puts a bit of spring back in their steps after they get through the shit show that is Heathrow customs and head to the rental place. 

“Ooh, baby, that is a sexy car,” Zoe declares as they haul their bags over to the completely unsexy minivan. “We shall henceforth only refer to this delightful vehicle as ‘the Love Bus’!”

Shaw snickers, waiting impatiently for John to pop the trunk so she can throw her and Root’s big backpacks in and they can head over to pick up the motorbike Root’s rented for the duration of their stay in the U.K. “What are you gonna call the sex machine _I’m_ riding, then?” Sometimes it’s nice to just set your friends up for a slam dunk.

“Uh, Root, same as always,” Zoe deadpans, stuffing her bag in next to Shaw’s and grabbing her sweater off the top to throw into the backseat.

Root laughs, sliding a warm hand onto Shaw’s hip under her shirt, but letting the cool air hit her belly so she shivers a little. It’s pitch black except for the streetlights, 3 a.m. local time, and Shaw wants to get on the road so she can collapse in a real bed at the other end. She’s feeling pretty good, though, and the drive is only a couple of hours to Brighton from Heathrow. Luckily, Root seems to be properly awake and alert, otherwise Shaw would suggest they crashed in a hotel overnight, but they wanna check in in Brighton and have a recovery day before the parade and stuff. 

Saying a temporary goodbye to the Team, Shaw watches John pull 'the Love Bus' out and head off down the road out of the rental lot. They’ll probably pass them on the motorway, but they have to get organised first. 

Root takes care of picking up the bike, and the leathers she’s somehow arranged for them fit pretty well. Shaw’s are a little too big, but that was deliberate, so Zoe or Joss can switch out with her if they want to. As she slings her leg over the bike while Root holds it steady with one long leg planted firmly on the ground, Shaw thinks that it’s gonna take some epic bribery to unpeel her from Root’s back. Leather plus Root is too good to want to share. 

* * *

She presses close, sliding her gloved hands across Root’s padded stomach and humming happily, completely ready for their holiday to begin properly. Root picks up one of her hands, and slides it down, and Shaw breathes in sharply as the hardness of a dick presses against her palm through the double layer of leather. Root must have strapped on in the bathroom when they got changed into their biker gear.

Holy shit, she’s wet instantly, and Root squeezes her hand like she knows it. Shaw can’t see her face, or hear much of anything past the helmet, but she grinds her hips against Root’s back, hopelessly turned on at the thoughts assailing her brain—dropping to her knees on the side of a road, gravel prickling through the thick material over her knees, Root bending her over the bike, headlights illuminating them for a split second as cars streak by, the leather of Root’s pants chafing her bare ass when Root drives home. Shaw groans deep in her chest and wriggles closer. 

Root lets her grab for a few more seconds and then firmly moves Shaw’s hand back to safe ground, patting it in a way that means ‘that better stay here’, and Shaw knows better than to molest her while she’s driving anyway, regardless of the temptation.

It’s gonna be a long and squirmy ride to Brighton, she realises, her whole body throbbing as she wriggles to try and put pressure on her aching center.

Root turns the ignition and competently pulls out of the parking lot, leaning back against Shaw in wordless communication. 

The stars streak by overhead as they pick up speed, racing down the road towards the ocean.


	10. Ride Me Like One Of Your Motorbikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** all smut. TERRIBLE PUNS, exhibitionism, outside smut, leather kink, strap ons, bjs, shoot stuff you know how it is.

Root can feel Shaw squeezing her thighs against the seat of the bike and it makes her grin as the landscape races by. The motorway is pretty quiet, sporadic tail lights appearing out of the dark in front of them, growing brighter and then disappearing behind them as Root guns the big Triumph and passes the slower vehicles. 

She smirks in the privacy of her helmet as she remembers persuading the rental company that turning the required twenty-four years of age two days after the rental agreement began was totally reasonable—the promise to secure them some advertising space on a client’s website and the fact she has a certificate in defensive motorbike driving swung the argument in her favour.  

Bending rules to suit herself has long been one of Root’s favourite pastimes, and the sensation of Shaw pressed up against her and the sheer speed they’re travelling at is worth a lot even without the smugness of victory. Certainly better than renting a minibus for the whole Team and putting up with the smell of stinky socks and various team members draping themselves across Shaw making her irritable and tense. 

The wind tugs at her leathers—it’s cold enough she can feel it through her double layers, but her blood is warm with low-level arousal and the adrenaline that always comes with a powerful machine between her legs. Pun intended. 

She checks her mirrors as she speeds past a caravan travelling so slowly it may as well be stopped, and then grins as she really opens up the engine for the miles of straight road ahead.    
  
It’s a good drive, and she’s almost tempted to do a lap of Brighton so they can spend longer pressed together on the bike, but realises it’s probably close to dawn and they don’t have a lot of time for roadside hanky panky before it’s too light and busy. 

She slows down, looking for a good spot, and feels Shaw stiffen behind her as she realises what’s going on. The headlight illuminates an upcoming layby, the kind truckers pull off to nap in that’s actually separated from the road by a narrow strip of grass, and she eases off the gas almost completely, trundling to a halt and catching the weight of the bike with her leg before kicking the stand down and turning off the ignition. 

Shaw runs her hands down to Root’s dick  _ immediately,  _ feeling the shape of her hard on through the leather, and Root growls, arousal streaking through her. She lets Shaw keep feeling her up while she takes off her gloves, pulls off her helmet—which she discards on the ground—shakes her hair free, and unclips the tight leather collar of her protective onesie so she can get at the zip. She undoes it down to her belly before placing her hands over one of Shaw’s, using the excuse of peeling Shaw’s gloves off in order to increase the pressure against her dick, bucking her hips up. 

Ungloved, Shaw delicately outlines the thicker head of the dick. Root would swear that she can feel the touch of Shaw’s fingerprints through the leather, through the silicone and straight onto her clit. She groans, and Shaw’s hands disappear momentarily. Root feels her take off her helmet and put it down next to Root’s, and then she’s back, pressed up against Root’s spine mouthing onto the thick black material over Root’s shoulder. She can almost feel the heat of Shaw’s breath. 

Shaw jerks her off through the leather until Root is leaning her full weight back, gasping and bucking her hips, the tight trousers tripling the sensations and wiping her mind clear of everything except for the pushing, tugging arousal deep in her guts.

Cars streak by occasionally, light tripping over them in broken streaks, where they’re partly sheltered by the curve of the road and trees overhead. She can hear Shaw’s heavy breathing, feel her forehead pressed into Root’s shoulder blade, the determined, firm rubs of her palm down the length of Root’s dick. 

She’s not gonna come like this, though; if they had hours and nothing to do she might make Shaw try and get her off with just a handjob, for the hell of it, but the lightest suggestion of dawn is already beginning to threaten on the horizon and Root has a lot of plans. 

Shaw backs off as soon as Root stills her hand, gripping Root’s hip instead and thrusting short, aborted and useless movements against her back. There’s no way the leathers she’s in are letting her get any friction, they’re much too loose, and Root smirks at the thought of Shaw flooding her pants and unable to get any relief. 

It’s the work of a moment to rearrange them, force Shaw onto her knees next to the bike. Root leans against the bike with her back to the road. She shrugs her leathers off her shoulders and lets them pool around her knees, restrictive but not uncomfortably so. The fly of her jeans is bulging obscenely, and her cock springs free when she unzips, so she can bend it up and position it properly. When she pushes on it lightning jumps through her pussy from the impact against her clit. 

Shaw’s shoulders are heaving, her mouth open and ready. She licks her lips, clearly wanting to dive right in and bury her face in Root’s body but waiting to be told. Root can’t hide a grin at the sight of her, on her knees, hair wild and unkempt from the helmet, eyes dark and desperate, starlight turning her silver and blue. 

She nods, and Shaw’s on her in less than a second, eagerly grabbing Root’s dick at the base and making a greedy noise in the back of her throat as she swallows her down. Root  _ feels  _ herself impact the back of Shaw’s throat, slide down the softness, and Shaw gags but holds her down like a champion, panting harsh little breaths through her nose and pushing with her hand so Root has something to thrust against while Shaw finds her balance. 

She looks so fucking good on her knees, eyes closed in happiness, humming around Root’s dick as she finds a rhythm and settles into it, jarring Root with her hand and adding pressure with her mouth. Root tips her hips forwards eagerly, and Shaw adjusts, taking her right down and down, further than Root thinks she’s ever gotten her before until Shaw’s nose is pressed into Root’s crotch above the dick and the pulling, pushing, pulling doubles in strength as Shaw deepthroats her. 

Root slides her hand into Shaw’s hair, holds her there, the choking little noises bursting out of Shaw ratcheting her arousal up and up and up until she’s on the very fucking verge of an orgasm, hovering at the brink, and Shaw pulls back against her hand. She slides off a bit, smirks up at Root with her dick still halfway down her throat and then pushes her knuckles against Root under the dildo and Root comes, not bothering to suppress her quiet yell of pleasure. 

Shaw makes a happy noise around her dick, settles back on her heels and kisses the head, slow and soft like she’s making out with it while Root shudders through her orgasm, her fingers tightening in Shaw’s hair, startlingly white against the dark strands. 

“Mm, you really know how to rev my engine,” she purrs, satisfaction dyeing the words deep and velvety. Shaw leans into her hand until Root tugs gently, pulling her off the dick and up to her feet. 

When she drags Shaw into her mouth, she tastes the metallic tang of blood and realises Shaw’s split her lip, maybe on the zip of Root’s jeans, or the lack of lubrication combined with Shaw’s enthusiastic start. Either way, Root shivers with lust, sucks on the small wound and grinds forwards into Shaw’s body with renewed enthusiasm. 

Shaw basically tries to hook her leg around Root’s hip and rub herself off then and there, but Root only allows it for a few minutes, enough that Shaw’s panting with frustration and trying to use the motorbike as a convenient height equaliser.

“Easy, lover,” Shaw pouts as Root gently pushes her back, “I wanna take a look under the hood.” Okay, yeah, motorbikes don’t really have hoods, but whatever. Root _just_ had an orgasm, you can’t expect her to be at her punning finest. 

Shaw licks her lips expectantly, silently turning around when Root gestures for her to do so, and she lets out a huff of air as Root pulls the zipper on her leathers, sliding it down over her belly and pressing kisses to the back of her neck as she does so. 

She bites down hard, making Shaw lift into her teeth before releasing to work the thick protective material off Shaw’s shoulders, “your engine should be all lubed up, but I will need to coat my dipstick just to make sure,” she purrs, and Shaw shivers. Root loves when Shaw is so turned on she doesn’t even roll her eyes while Root is punning, and she takes the shiver as encouragement. 

Shaw spreads her legs obediently after Root’s worked her leathers and jeans down to her ankles, and when she runs explorative fingers between Shaw’s legs she’s delighted to find she’s drenched and swollen, so wet Root’s momentarily tempted to turn this scene into an anal adventure. She sighs when she realises that she doesn’t have condoms handy, and pulls her hand clear. 

“Ready for your road test, baby? Just let me slide the keys into the ignition,” Root doesn’t give her time to decide if that one was so terrible it deserves mockery even if Shaw  _ is  _ dripping down her own legs, because she lines up and thrusts home in one, violent movement. 

“Ohjesusfuckkk,” Shaw yells, loudly enough that anyone with their windows down in the surrounding area would definitely have heard. 

The motorbike rocks with the impact, Shaw slams one hand around the handlebar and the other stays by her hip on the padded seat, her entire upper body bent down over the bike and most of her weight on Root’s dick as she’s forced onto her tiptoes by Root’s height and angle.

“I fucking love bikes,” Root pants out as she grabs Shaw’s hip, pulls out almost all the way and then driving back in again, almost overbalancing the bike in the process, “but holy shit you’re a better ride than any I’ve ever been on.” She might be babbling a  _ little,  _ but it feels so fucking good to be inside Shaw, to be pounding against her, outside in the open air, with the stars still out above them. Shaw moans encouragingly, rolls her hips as best she can with the weight of Root against her and the pace she’s setting. 

A lorry trundles by, its headlights catching them for a long second, and Root smirks triumphantly, feeling invincible as she thrusts hard into her lover, driving in and out rapidly and causing hot pleasure to shoot through her, gathering speed and force as she does.

“Can I, fuck, can I, oh, God,” Shaw moans out between breaths, wriggling underneath Root, probably trying to get the perfect angle of padded leather seat against her clit. 

“Yeah, fuck, come for me, but don’t think I’m going to fucking stop, Sameen,” Root leans over, finds skin with her lips and bites down on Shaw’s bicep. 

Shaw howls and jerks, grinding her hips down into the bike, back into Root’s dick, shuddering and gasping incoherent words into the still night air. 

Root doesn’t even slow; she lets go of her mouthful and straightens up, holds Shaw down with a hand in the middle of her back and fucks into her until there’s nothing except the roaring of her approaching orgasm flooding her ears, throbbing through her veins. Shaw is crying out underneath her again, a choked, sobbing noise that reaches through Root’s sternum and grabs her and she’s coming, slamming home into Shaw’s limp body and riding the wave of pleasure until it’s faded completely, leaving her draped over Shaw’s back in a sweaty heap.

“Urgh,” Shaw complains, after a few minutes, and Root drags herself upright, out of Shaw with a wet noise that makes her bite her lip. “So, would you say I’m roadworthy?” Shaw pants weakly, peeling herself off the bike. 

Root laughs so hard she sits down on the floor by accident, and gets gravel stuck to her bare thighs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really shitty morning so I'm posting this early to cheer myself up.


	11. These Babes

By the time they pull up to the front of their fancy ass hotel, which Root was given the address of for navigating purposes but not told anything about in advance, it’s full daylight. 

A uniformed valet hastens out to politely take over the bike, and Shaw and Root slope inside, checking in while trying not to be too obvious in their peering around at the decorative plaster and gold painted accents. 

The lobby is marble-floored, with a high, vaulted ceiling and curving stairs leading away from behind the desk. Two elevators are framed with pink marble pillars on the left, and a large restaurant is just starting to bustle with servers setting up breakfast on the right. 

The concierge takes their driver’s licenses and copies them, then hands them each a key card, noting they don’t really have any bags with them. “Floor 3, suite 307, room service would be delighted to bring you some food if necessary. Enjoy your stay at the Grand.” 

“Thanks,” Shaw replies, when it seems like Root isn’t going to, and she grabs Root’s hand to pull her in the direction of the elevator.

“You guys went all out,” Root murmurs, turning her hand around so their fingers are tangled. 

Shaw allows it, because it’s Root’s ‘birthday weekend’ or whatever. Regardless of the fact it’s her  _ fake  _ birthday, they all deserve a really fucking nice weekend. Especially Root, after the couple of days she’s had. She lifts her chin up automatically when the elevator disgorges a man in a suit and a lady in a fancy dress with a hat, whose eyes snap down to their joined hands. 

The lady smiles at them kindly, and Shaw remembers they’re in Brighton on Pride weekend, and she probably doesn’t need to be so defensive. They slide into the elevator and Shaw presses the button. Root leans against her a little as they start to move upwards.

The suite they’ve booked has two bedrooms—Joss and Zoe have already taken over the smaller one and the door is shut, but the master with the big bathroom has it’s door open invitingly. The sitting area is full of expensive-looking but inviting wood and cream furniture, with a large bay window, fresh flowers on a small table, full bookshelves with leather bound editions and a freaking  _ piano _ in the corner of the lounge.

  
“I take it back, you could have made an effort,” Root snickers, heading straight for the bedroom and pulling her leathers off as she goes. Shaw hurries after her. Their bags have already been deposited at the end of the bed, and Root unzips hers and pulls out her toiletries bag and jammies.

They make quick work of getting ready for bed and slide into the luxurious sheets by six thirty, wriggling around to warm the silky fabric and take full advantage of the pillowy mattress.

Root snakes her arm around Shaw’s hips, pulling her over, which she never usually does because Shaw prefers space when she sleeps, but she’s willing to give it up in favour of Root getting a good rest, so she only puts up a token protest. 

They fall asleep rapidly, with Root’s long leg tucked through Shaw’s shorter ones, mimicking the position they fell asleep on the couch cushions in the night before.

 

***

“Get up get up it’s time to get up,” an unbelievably cheerful voice which can only belong to Zoe announces, at the same time as something soft hits Shaw’s head and she flails in protest, pulling her head out from its position tucked against a corner of duvet.

“Urgh, Zoe, what time is it?” She complains, rolling over and stretching. 

Next to her, Root gurgles in protest and curls up into a smaller ball, shoving her bum against Shaw’s thigh.

“It’s almost two! We have reservations at seven and we have to do all Root’s birthday stuff, and you guys are definitely gonna want to bang and you only have time if you GET UP.” Zoe insists, trying to crawl under the covers at Shaw’s feet.

Shaw kicks out at her half-heartedly, “you are literally the worst friend I have ever had.”

Joss laughs, flopping down on Root’s side of the bed and petting Root’s hair idly, “I’m definitely the best friend.”

“Lies,” Zoe yells indignantly, muffled through a mouthful of duvet as she successfully finds an opening and squirms up the middle, almost knocking Shaw off the bed completely.

Root, somehow, manages to stay almost comatose during the furor. 

Then John tentatively pokes his head around the half-open bedroom door, “thank god, Zoe said to come up but I thought she might be tricking me into seeing you naked  _ again _ . ” He comes in the rest of the way, followed by Harry, and they both sit down on the end of the bed, which, fortunately, is fucking enormous.

Root struggles into a sitting position, her hair in a hilarious mess. “If there isn’t coffee I’m not to be held responsible for my actions,” she groans.

Zoe wriggles into her side, pushing her head under Root’s arm for a cuddle, “there’s coffee, John fetch the coffee, it’s in the living room on the tray.”

“Why do I have to do it?” John inquires, getting to his feet anyway and trudging into the other room.

“Because you are the best mom,” Zoe responds, “Joss, get the prezzies, upend them on the bed, yes, good.”

“You don’t have control over your own body any more, I take it?” Joss rolls her eyes, leaning off the bed and picking up a bag.

“When have I  _ ever _ ?” Zoe snickers, and then John comes back in with a huge coffee pot and Shaw is provided with a nice, black coffee that smells good and strong. She buries her face in it, inhaling deeply, and almost gets her nose burned off when Zoe flails upright and pats her legs as Joss empties presents out of a plastic bag onto her legs.

“It’s not your birthday, Zoe,” Joss points out, squeezing back in next to Root and taking coffee for her, passing it over.

Root hums happily as she takes a tiny sip of the heavily creamed liquid. Hers is always cool enough to drink before Shaw’s because she dilutes it with so much cow juice. 

“No, it’s ROOT’S birthday! Root, which present do you want first?”

Shaw hides her smirk in her mug. Root is looking a little overwhelmed, in a good way, and Shaw watches as she moves her cup into one hand and picks up a little, gold-wrapped box.

“That’s from me,” Finch says, delicately sipping his coffee, and Root gives him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Open it before you thank him,” Shaw grins, “once he got me an encyclopedia.” 

“Of  _ medical terms _ , for your course!” Harold defends himself and Shaw happily observes the indignant expression on his face. He’s so easy to wind up.

The sound of ripping paper draws her attention back to Root, and she snickers triumphantly as a USB stick is revealed in a small box, “see, work related. Boring!”

“It’s actually an algorithm I spent weeks working on, providing access to a couple of thousand movies, books and TV shows, that will display like Netflix does in a searchable media library,” Harry sniffs, “with the entire back catalogue of Pink and White’s pornography included.”   
  
“That was my idea,” Zoe claims, grabbing her own coffee off John, “but I have seen the library thing and it is actually intensely fucking cool. You can add your own downloaded stuff and it’ll pull all the art and info from IMDB and basically it’s way nicer than trying to pick a movie from a hard drive full of folders.”

“Wow, Harry, that sounds really cool,” Root grins, passing the USB stick to Shaw to put on the bedside table. Shaw has to admit it does sound pretty good. “Are you going to sell it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to some beta testing feedback,” Harry responds with a twinkle in his eye, and Root snickers.    
  
“Done, thanks.” She wriggles forwards to give him a one armed hug, which he returns in kind, saying something too quietly for Shaw to make out right into Root’s ear. She’s a little pink in the face when she sits back down.

“Next!” Zoe declares, handing a magenta package the size of a large laptop over to Root, “This is from me. John, make sure you have a good view, you’re going to love this.”

John promptly covers his eyes with one hand, “tell me when it’s over.”

The package reveals presents that are equally as much for Shaw as they are for Root, but she already knew what Zoe was getting. The crotchless panties, short leather skirt, bra made of strips of leather that conceal literally nothing but do provide a fair amount of support, and the new set of matching leather wrist cuffs tie in with the present she herself got for Root. 

Root exclaims in delight over each item while Harry pretends to be on his phone, Zoe points out the features, and Joss watches with an amused and indulgent expression.

The last present is from Joss and John together and Shaw watches with interest as Root unwraps what looks like a photo album. Root opens it up carefully, and gasps in delight. Shaw leans over to see what’s in there.

“Oh, fuck you guys,” she groans, putting her head in her hand. The album seems to be full of pictures of Shaw, somehow including images of her when she was a teenager, clad in head to toe punk gear with far too much eyeliner. She’s gonna kill her mom.

Root is absolutely ecstatic though, so Shaw doesn’t complain too much even though she’s crawling with embarrassment on the inside. At least they included some of Shaw doing cool shit, like skateboarding the vicious halfpipe at the local park, and there’s an excellent one of her punching a blackbelt in the face, captured at point of impact. John must have got that at one of her tournaments. She doesn’t remember the girl specifically, but the spray of blood in the air is very artistic.

Root flips the page, “who’s this?” She asks, pointing at a picture of Shaw straightening a teenage girl’s gi. 

“Uh, that’s Gen. One of my kids from the youth center I used to work at,” Shaw mumbles, beyond uncomfortable, and Root must catch the expression on her face cause she shuts the album and sets it aside, stretching.

“Well, I’m starving!” She announces, “time for breakfast.” If she wonders whether she’s getting anything from Shaw or not, she doesn’t let on, and the team retire into the living room for room service, which is delivered with metallic balloons attached to the cart.

A delicious brunch of pancakes, bacon, fruit and eggs leaves them all full and happy, and then Shaw drags Root back into the bedroom. The others stick something loud on the T.V in Joss and Zoe’s room.

“Wait a sec,” Shaw says as Root goes to pull her shirt off, clearly assuming it is time for bangs. It’s not  _ not  _ time for bangs, but Shaw wants to give her her stupid presents already so she can stop thinking about it.

She dumps the three items out on the bed, an envelope, a tiny velvet box, and a hard rectangle the size of a slim book. Root eyes her with an expression of dawning delight, which she tries to school off her features only somewhat successfully.

Shaw rolls her eyes, pushing the velvet box towards her, “it’s not a ring, don’t go getting any ideas,” she mumbles.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 


	12. Gift Me Like You're One Of My Good Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> totes managed to write three chapters this week after complaining about being blocked soooo thanks for all the positive vibes :D 
> 
> **content warning** smut under the line, mild bondage, biting, choking

Root picks up the little box, standing at the end of the bed. She turns it around in her hands, because she’s not quite ready to open it yet, for some reason. She didn’t really expect a present from Shaw, and if she thought about Shaw getting her anything it certainly wasn’t jewellery. Root doesn’t wear a lot of jewellery, really, so she doesn’t know what could be in the box.

In Root’s peripheral vision, Shaw shifts uncomfortably, “I, uh, I asked Zoe what she thought I should get you, and she asked me what you liked. And I said, well, nerd stuff, sex, and me. So I did three presents. One for each. That’s the nerd stuff. Open it.” There’s a note of defensiveness in her voice that makes Root feel like something in her chest is expanding.

She carefully pushes up the snug lid of the box until the hinges take over and it pops open. Nestled on midnight blue velvet inside is a flat, silver thing that looks like a lightening bolt for a moment and then Root makes out the detail, the little circles on the end of the spurs, and realises it’s a molecule. She doesn’t recognise it immediately, pulls it out of the velvet and sees it’s a pin at the same time as she registers it’s the molecular structure of adrenaline. 

“It’s, uh, to wear on your lapel or whatever. If you want.” Shaw offers, looking out the window with a determined expression of concentration. 

Root slides up behind her and threads her arms around Shaw’s waist with the box still in her hand. She presses a kiss to the back of Shaw’s neck that makes her shiver and stop eyeing a seagull like she’s considering murdering it. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.” 

“Mph,” Shaw grunts, but relaxes a little in Root’s arms, leans against her for a split second before pointing at the bed. “Get it over with, come on.”   
  
Root smothers her snort in the warm, soft space behind Shaw’s ear before pulling free and padding over to the bed. She sits on it crosslegged, and looks at the remaining two items. “Any particular order?”

Shaw looks torn, and then tucks her hands in her jammy pockets, “the envelope can be last.”   
  
“So this is...” Root opens it carefully, sliding her thumbnail under the tape, “sex or you.” The box comes out and she pulls the flap of cardboard out of the end, turning it all over so the present slides clear. “Oh, Shaw.” It’s a photo, in a frame designed to hang on the wall, of Shaw and Bear. Shaw’s asleep in the garden—on a blanket with Bear crouched next to her, his toy bunny-ball by the tip of his nose. He’s eyeing Shaw mournfully in the obvious hope she’ll wake up and throw it for him. It’s  _ very  _ cute. 

Shaw grumbles something and scuffs her toe in the thick carpet. Root can’t believe how thoughtful these presents are, and she feels all floaty and warm inside.

“Stupid Joss and John stole my thunder,” Shaw grouses and Root huffs out a little laugh, seeing the tension in Shaw’s back.

“It means a lot more coming from you. And besides, the  _ real  _ present here is the permission to hang a picture of you up!” She points out, carefully setting the picture on the bedside table, with the jewellery box next to it. 

“I figure...if you want one up that badly, it’s not that big a deal,” Shaw scratches her belly, still not looking at Root, and Root resists the urge to tackle her onto the bed because there’s still one more thing, the envelope.

“So, sex...” she hums. The envelope isn’t sealed, so she untucks the flap and pulls out the pieces of paper inside. Two tickets for ‘Leather and Latex’ at Club Flesh. The tickets make it very clear that this is a fetish ball. Sex indeed. Her mind immediately starts spinning into overdrive: the party is tomorrow night, which isn’t a lot of time to prepare...

Shaw interrupts her thoughts, “I, uh, that’s what Zoe’s presents are for. Me to wear. There.”

Heat flushes through Root from head to toe at the idea of Shaw in that excuse for a bra with matching cuffs, on her knees at Root’s feet in front of a crowd of milling strangers. “Sameen,” her voice is all low and throaty, and Shaw turns automatically, but avoids eye contact. “Come over here so I can say thank you,” Root hums, holding out her hand. 

Shaw tentatively steps closer, and Root smooths her hand down the bedsheet, inviting her to sit down. After a moment’s hesitation, Shaw crawls onto the bed, leans her head into the crook of Root’s neck. Root strokes her hand down Shaw’s back, long and slow. Shaw leans into the touch, making a little sound of pleasure in her throat. Root fishes her phone off the bedside table and sets an alarm for five thirty. 

* * *

“Come straddle me, sugar,” Root leans back against the headboard, straightens her legs down the bed. Shaw dithers for a second, and then crawls onto Root’s lap, knees framing her hips. She’s avoiding eye contact and her shoulders are tense. “Good girl,” Root purs, running her hands down Shaw’s sides, pulling her a little closer, “you’re so good for me.”

Shaw doesn’t soften, and Root thinks she’s probably too uncomfortable for praise, so she switches tactics, trailing her fingers down Shaw’s arms and then gripping her wrists, tightening her grip until Shaw exhales loudly.    
  
“Mm,” Root hums, leaning forwards, using her grip on Shaw’s wrists to hold her still as she mouths against Shaw’s full breasts under the baggy Ghostbusters tshirt she’s wearing. Shaw wriggles slightly, her nipples hardening against the soft cotton. Root grins against the smooth curve of her, noses into Shaw’s cleavage, indulging herself in the familiar smell of her lover. Pleasure courses through her veins, warm and lazy curls of arousal trickling through her to settle between her legs. 

Shaw stays still apart from microscopic shifts as Root switches from gentle nosing to little bites, not exerting a lot of pressure with her teeth, just enough to make Shaw relax into her finally, easing away from the discomfort she was feeling after the presents she gave. 

Her muscles twitch sporadically as she tenses and melts in waves, not pulling against Root’s hands still firmly wrapped around her wrist bones. Root tugs Shaw’s hands behind her back, holds them there while she alternates between nipples, nibbling on them and enjoying the way Shaw arches up into her mouth, hair dangling back and tickling at Root’s fingers.

Shaw’s hips push forwards against Root, looking for friction, and Root shuffles a little, so Shaw can press against her pubic bone, making a soft little sound in the back of her throat as she settles. 

Letting go of her, Root licks up Shaw’s throat, “keep those behind your back, sweetheart,” and Shaw nods, moving more of her weight onto Root for balance. 

Root grips her ass with one hand, pulling them harder together, pushing up into the sensations of Shaw grinding down on her. 

Rewarded with a quiet moan, Root digs her fingers into the muscular curve of Shaw’s ass, hoping she’ll leave little bruises. Shaw makes a wanton sound and circles her hips against Root’s, sending shivers of lust through her, making her bite down hard on Shaw’s breast through the shirt, definitely hard enough to leave a crescent behind. She sucks for a moment, enjoying Shaw’s little whimper, and then releases her in order to tug Shaw’s shirt off over her head and give her free access to Shaw’s torso.

Shaw helpfully lifts her hands, and lets Root use the tshirt to tie them loosely together behind her back, her breathing hitching as Root tugs on the improvised cuffs with one hand and closes the other around Shaw’s throat. 

Shaw swallows, her adam’s apple bobbing against Root’s palm, her throat soft and warm under Root’s fingers. She squeezes, biting down on the meat of Shaw’s shoulder and grinding up into her. 

“Oh, oh,” Shaw gasps out, the words thickened by the grip Root has on her neck, helplessly grinding down as her head falls back. 

Root holds her there, one hand around her throat, one around her wrist bonds, using both grips to provide leverage to her own searching thrusts, getting only the barest edge of stimulation against the top of her clit due to the angle. Shaw, however, has full contact, and is making the most of it, her thrusts getting more demanding and sporadic.    
  
When Root lets go of Shaw’s neck, not completely, just enough to free the blood vessels, Shaw releases one of the most pornographic moans Root has ever heard, and she groans back in response. She pushes Shaw away slightly, enough to pull one leg up a bit until Shaw gets the idea and lifts so she’s only straddling one of Root’s thighs and Root can push against Shaw’s thick leg muscle, finally getting some direct stimulation. 

As soon as Shaw’s settled again, Root tightens her hand, power and lust twining around each other and fuelling the movement of her hips. She seizes the side of Shaw’s breast in her teeth, bites down, sucks hard until she would swear she could feel the blood collecting under the skin, leaving a stamp of broken capillaries behind her mouth. She works her way across Shaw’s chest, up her throat, forgetting that they’re going out to a restaurant later in the heat of the moment. 

She pulls back to admire her handiwork, mottled purple standing clear on Shaw’s brown skin, across her cleavage, left breast and collarbones, as well as a vivid mark on the side of her throat. 

Root growls, closing her hand over the new bruise and squeezing. Shaw’s mouth opens, her lip trembling. Her eyes roll back as her face swells a little, reddening as Root watches eagerly, waiting for the perfect moment to let go. Shaw’s hips are driving fast, little, choked groans pushing their way past Root’s hand as Shaw soars up and up. Root feels her body start to protest properly, holds on for a few more long seconds, and then releases and Shaw tumbles forwards to bury her face in Root’s neck, coming in a protracted series of throaty moans. 

Root helps her to thrust through her orgasm, pets her back when she collapses limply, lets her recover herself with her nose pressed under Root’s ear, but as soon as Shaw stirs Root releases her hands and wriggles out from under her, pushing her flat onto the mattress.

Shaw goes easily, seeing what Root has in mind, and Root yanks her shorts off, not bothering with her shirt before settling herself over Shaw’s face and grabbing onto the thick mahogany headboard as Shaw licks softly over her pussy. 

They’re midway through round three when the alarm goes off, but fortunately Root scheduled in time for them to finish and they’re both out of the enormous shower by six fifteen.  

Shaw’s new bruising looks spectacular against the crisp white of her spaghetti strap dress, and she doesn’t stop bitching about it until Root carefully settles her new silver pin on the lapel of her black tuxedo jacket. 

Root does think, however, that if Shaw had even a remote chance of fitting into Root’s ruffleneck shirt, that they would be changing outfits. Fortunately, the restaurant may be fancy but it’s also mid-Pride, and they are miles away from being the most shocking of the customers in attendance.

 


	13. When the Dance Floor Lights are Faded

After dinner, they head to a bar for a few predrinks before Zoe bundles them into a cab and to their ‘secret location’. It turns out to be a busy club with a line of a dozen or so people outside even though it’s still before ten.

Zoe leads them confidently to the front of the line, and announces ‘Zoe Morgan and friends, Cookie’s expecting me.” 

The bouncer radios through to someone, and then lets them past the velvet rope without blinking. Root snickers at the smug expression on Zoe’s face as they head past the coat check. A short, slender girl with flashing blue eyes and long, dark hair emerges from a side door in front of them.

“Zoe,” she greets her, a tiny smile in her eyes but her voice all cool and calm. 

“Effy!” Zoe shrieks, regardless of the lack of enthusiasm in the greeting, she flings herself at the stranger who smirks and allows the hug, resting her hand on Zoe’s hip for a moment. Zoe turns, grinning widely, “guys, this is Effy, Effy, this is... Root, Shaw, Joss, Harry and John.”

“Cookie’s put you in the VIP section,” Effy turns on her heel without acknowledging the introductions, sauntering down the corridor away from them.    
  
Not in the least put off, Zoe races after her, gesturing the others to follow.

“She seems sweet,” Joss deadpans and Shaw snickers, starting to walk after Zoe. Root paces after her.

“She’s clearly one of those people who is too cool to have any fun,” Shaw observes quietly, just before they push through the doors and are enveloped by music.

It’s a pretty dope club. There are two levels, the top circling around the edge of the room with a bar and seating, people standing at the railings looking down at the dance floor, which is thumping and partially full even though it’s early. The flashing blue and purple lights catch collarbones and shoulders as people dance, pressed up against each other.

Shaw’s spotted Zoe and Effy, and is threading her way around the edge of the dance floor. Root catches up, exchanging a grin with John as they push up the stairs and follow the others into a cordoned off area with a good view of the dance floor.

Zoe flops down on a leather couch immediately, and Effy leans over her. Root can’t hear what she says, but when she pulls back, Zoe’s got something in her hand that she immediately transfers to her bra and then Effy points at the bar and mouths something else.

Shaw takes the seat opposite Zoe, an armchair kind of thing, so Root sits next to Zoe and Joss plops on the other side, leaving the boys on a smaller sofa running at a ninety degree angle. 

“Effy says we just have to ring the bell for table service,” Zoe enunciates over the music, which is slightly quieter in their little shielded box.

Shaw immediately thumps her hand down on the bell on the end of the table, and grins beatifically at everyone, “shots, shots, shots,” she chants, and John joins in.

Zoe points at her bra,  “also, I have pills now if you want, present from Cookie. His shit is usually  _ excellent. _ ” 

Shaw puts her hand up, and Root pulls a face, leaning forward to put her hand on Shaw’s knee.

“I’d rather you didn’t, night before we go to a kink party. Brain chemistry,” she waves a hand at her head, trying to emphasise the fact that if they’re coming down then they’ll have to play the night differently, tomorrow, and Shaw pulls her mouth to one side, thinking. 

Zoe, meanwhile, has ordered a bottle of tequila and an ice bucket full of beers, and Root takes one of each when John passes it over. Shaw nods, and takes her own, clinking her shot glass against Root’s gently before they both throw them back.

Root starts making a ‘gross’ face before the taste actually registers, and then she blinks, licking her lips, “shit, that is good tequila,” she leans over to grab the bottle, a tall, blue glass affair. It reads ‘Corraleo’. She grins at Shaw, “new fave tequila!” And pours herself a new shot. 

After lubricating themselves a bit at the tables the team decide to head down to the dance floor. They leave their coats and bags in their fancy private booth, and Zoe proudly relinks the velvet rope that separates it from the rest of the room. “Did I do good?” She grabs Root’s arm, practically dragging her down the stairs.

“You did amazing, Zo,” Root gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek to emphasise the point, full of tequila and happiness. 

Shaw worms between them, tucks a hand in Root’s pocket, “yeah nice work, Zoe. How do you know these fancy pantsers, anyway?”

They’re not really dancing so much as standing close together on the dance floor, yelling over the music. 

“I used to fuck Cookie, when I was in London two summers ago, and he fucks Effy. They proposed a threeway! I wonder if that’s still on the table?” She waggles her eyebrows.

Shaw snorts, eyeing Effy who appears to be doing literally nothing in the DJ booth, “she’s cute, but she seems like a drag?” 

“Naw, she’s a good laugh, once you get past the icy exterior. I’m gonna go try my luck!” Zoe cheerses them with her beer bottle and disappears into the crowd. 

“Godspeed,” Root laughs, dragging Shaw in close and turning her around so she can urge her deeper onto the dance floor, looking for the others.

They dance for a good few hours, servers occasionally coming by with fresh beers for them. Root is  _ really  _ enjoying the VIP treatment.

When the lights go up, Zoe, who is looking extremely cozy with Effy on the dance floor, declines to leave with them. The giggling five of them shuffle out onto the street, where dawn is just starting to streak the horizon. Root is  _ hammered _ , but buzzing and definitely not ready for bed, so she and Shaw settle in with a show. Shaw is snoring softly by the time the end credits roll, and Root is feeling antsy and worked up. 

She slides out of bed and tries to read for a while, but she’s too wasted, the words blurring and slipping in front of her. She’s dizzy and her head hurts. She wishes she had some weed, she can’t shut her brain down  _ or _ make it stop spinning. 

Shaw shuffles onto her side, making a little grunting noise, and Root puts her feet up on the bed, observing her lover’s sleeping face. She thinks about the party tomorrow... today. Shaw’s never been to one before, and Root wonders what she’s gonna think of it, if she’s gonna have a good time. She hopes so. Shaw has an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, she’s weak for public play—the danger of getting caught really hits her, Root can always see it in her eyes. Hanna wasn’t like that: she didn’t get off on being exposed, and when they went to parties together it wasn’t as a pair. Hanna didn’t sub in front of people.    
  
So Root’s never been to a party with her  _ own  _ sub; she’s met people there, even gone on a couple of blind date type affairs, but never had someone she was responsible for like this. She wants it to be good for Shaw, thinks it will be.

While she’s getting a glass of water, her mind turns back to Hanna, the paintings casting doubt on everything she thought she knew. Why wouldn’t Hanna  _ tell  _ her she was caught up in something?  Root thinks about the phone they found, her own phone in her hands.  _ Sixty two calls.  _ It’s fucked up, stalkery. Unless whoever it was was just worried about Hanna not answering... because of what happened. But no, because the calls started in the morning of that day, Root remembers, her memory sure of it even in her drunken state.

She looks down, the screen is blurry in her eyes, and she blinks to clear them. Her thumbs work of their own accord, and before she realises what she’s done, the number is staring up at her from the screen. Her stupid steel-trap brain is sure of every digit, even so drunk she can’t fucking stand up properly. Root chokes back a quiet sob, her thumb hovering over the call button. What happened to Hanna that night? The person that was on the other end of this number might know. She sits down heavily on the couch, water slopping over the edge of her glass. She wedges it between her knees, staring at the phone.

She’s completely convinced the number will be disconnected—it’s been two years, and regardless of any possibly links to Hanna’s death, the phone was definitely tied to something illegal. She’s zoning out, and a sudden ringing sound, faint but distinct, almost makes her drop the phone. When did she press connect? Fuck, what’s she going to do? Should she just hang up? Why the fuck would this phone even still  _ work _ ? It doesn’t make any sense. Her brain is sluggish and confused.

Someone picks up, inhales, “yeah?” A man’s voice, sounds like East Coast from what Root can make out. Her hands are shaking, breath coming in tiny, choking little gasps.

“Who is this?” The man asks, he sounds wary now, dangerous.

“Did you kill her?” Root doesn’t recognise her own voice. “Did you kill Hanna Frey?”

The dialtone is sickeningly loud in her ears. 

***

“Root?” Shaw mumbles, and Root starts, actually drops the phone. It splashes into her glass of water, bobs on the surface, “Root, whaddya doing?” The sleepy voice from the bed makes her heart hurt even more.   
  
Root’s face is wet, her throat is tight, her chest is tied with thorns, “nothing, babe, go back to sleep.” She sounds normal. Like nothing is wrong. Like her best friend wasn’t killed, and her hands didn’t end up covered in blood. 

“Mph,” Shaw mumbles, rolling over. 

Root opens the minibar and drinks everything she can find. 

The next day, she can’t find her phone for almost an hour, and curses her drunk self when she locates it, completely dead, in a pint of water. She can’t remember dropping it in, but the hangover pounding in her temples hurts badly enough she’s surprised that seems to be the only ridiculous thing she did. She hasn’t been this wasted in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover with British Skins


	14. Look Good In Latex (get off, having rough sex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fetish Party! Title and some later lyrics from Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Fetish (classic tune)
> 
>  **content warning** Brief mentions of: fairly extreme bondage, crops, whips, public play, pussy clamps, spanking. For Shoot: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, public submission, public domination, restraints, public spanking, public orgasm, squirting, Shaw being adooooooooooorable, goodtop!root, goodsub!shaw, I love this chapter I'm super proud of it. Feel free to yell with/at me on tumblr @constantlyhalfcocked if you don't wanna leave a public comment.
> 
> I hope it's everything you dreamed of

Shaw holds the long coat she’s wearing tightly closed around her exposed body as she gets out of the cab. Root confidently strides towards the flashing sign that indicates their destination, and Shaw hurries after her. Her heart is jumping in her chest: she feels like her facial expression is probably a bit rabbit-in-the-headlights so she makes an effort to school her features into neutral as Root waits for her on the sidewalk and leans over, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind Shaw’s ear. She wishes her hair was down so she could hide behind it.

Root had tried to talk to Shaw several times during the day, about the party, about what Shaw expected and wanted. Shaw could tell that Root was worried that Shaw was only doing this for her, and it made it even more uncomfortable, difficult to explain. Shaw wants very, very badly, to do this with Root, to be here with Root, but she can’t help wondering if she’s going to be what Root wants. She knows Root used to go with Hanna, a lot, and what if Shaw’s no good, or does something wrong? The third time Root had tried to start a conversation about it, Shaw had mumbled a reply into her ice cream, prompting Root to lean in close and ask Shaw to repeat herself. Shaw couldn’t look at her as she finally got the words out, _I just want to be good. Okay? I don’t want to talk about it, or plan, I just want you to do what you always do._ Root had raised her eyebrow and Shaw growled in frustration, _just ... take care of me. Like you always do. Tell me what you want so I can be good._ Root had looked thoughtful, and not pushed any further.

She’s watching Shaw now, even though Shaw won’t meet her eyes. “I’ve got you,” Root murmurs, leaning in. Her breath is warm on Shaw’s earlobe in the cool night air. It’s reassuring, familiar.

Shaw manages a nod, and Root takes her hand, squeezing gently. Shaw grips back a little more tightly than she intended to, a humming mass of adrenaline and anticipation tangled up in her chest. She’s so excited she feels a little sick.

Root leads her up to the bouncer, a large, bearded person in a bright pink dress that compliments their dark skin. They take the tickets with a friendly grin, exhorting them to have a good time.

The corridor is dark except for fairy lights leading the way to a pair of double doors and down a set of stairs that announce ‘changing’ above them. Root heads down the stairs like she’s been here before, seemingly completely at ease.

Shaw almost trips over her own feet as she hastens to follow, feeling clumsy and agitated. Her pulse is pounding in her ears, she’s so overly aware of every inch of her body. She wants to crawl inside Root’s jacket, drop to her knees. Something to make her let go of her nerves.

“Easy, lover,” Root hums, the words trickling through Shaw’s veins like syrup, soothing the buzz thrumming inside her. They push through a door at the bottom of the stairs into a small area with some curtained off cubicles, but the majority of people are just changing out of ordinary clothes and into some more shocking attire out in the open. Shaw tries hard not to stare as Root turns to face her, catching her eyes as she slowly pushes Shaw’s jacket off her shoulders.

There’s a tiny hint of a grin twinkling in Root’s eyes, and Shaw leans into her hands, wanting nothing more than to switch her brain off in the way Root specialises in.

The undressing is slow, gives Shaw time to breathe and feel Root against her. As soon as she’s exposed to the room, her mostly-straps-bra and leather skirt not really shielding much of her body, Shaw relaxes a little, suddenly in a better headspace. She fits in, now, people aren’t looking at her with anything but mild interest or approval. She thinks maybe she was imagining the judgement in their eyes before, that no one was ever thinking she didn’t belong here, that she wasn’t good enough for Root.

Root’s eyes are liquid and hot as she drags them approvingly down Shaw’s body. When Root had dressed Shaw, she’d done it like a ritual, like she was piecing Shaw together somehow. The small touches, friction of Root’s palms and fingers on Shaw’s sensitive skin had started a fire in her that’s been burning ever since.

Root smirks like she knows how on edge Shaw is, like she’s pleased—and that feels so fucking good Shaw’s breath hitches—before producing Shaw’s new leather cuffs from the little purse over her shoulder and twitching an eyebrow in question. The cuffs are shielded from the room by Root’s body and Shaw gets the question—Root’s checking she’s okay with being bound, restrained in this environment.

She shoves her hands forwards expectantly without missing a beat, and relaxes fully when Root wraps the leather around her wrists with slow, easy motions. Now she’s Root’s, and everything is okay. Root will take care of her. A small padlock gets clipped onto each, and Root tugs the silver chain dangling between the cuffs with a little, lopsided grin. “Anyone touches you without permission, you tell me, anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, I won’t leave you on your own, okay?”

“Green,” Shaw murmurs, deliberately choosing to safeword instead of replying conversationally, and Root’s eyes flash with barely restrained hunger. Shaw throbs, heavy and aching already.

“Good girl,” Root purrs, and Shaw shivers in pleasure at the praise. “Let’s go hand our coats in.” There’s a cloakroom, Shaw realises, at the end of the change room, with a bustling group of people waiting to hand in their street clothes. Without looking too much at any one thing, keeping her eyes down, Shaw checks out the people waiting with them.

There’s a plethora of definitely-inaccurate uniforms, a lot of leather, latex, fishnets and skin. A _lot_ of skin. There’s a guy who’s totally naked except for a gimp mask and a cock cage, a woman whose only clothing appears to be piercings joined together by slender silvery chains, and several people wearing only slightly more. Shaw suddenly feels a little overdressed, and, bizarrely, it makes her want to giggle. She swallows the urge carefully as she follows Root to the cloakroom, staying just a half-step behind her, as close as she can.

She notices a few people checking out her boobs—and when she catches sight of herself in a mirror it does look a lot like someone made her a bondage bra out of strips of leather. She’s also speckled with bruising from Root chewing on her yesterday. It’s a good look. She hides her smirk and lets her eyes slip away from anyone, not totally sure on the etiquette. Mz Razor used to tell her not to make eye contact with her, or anyone she brought over, unless specifically requested. Root didn’t tell her anything like that—which is probably due to how hard Shaw worked to avoid discussing the evening at all—so Shaw figures it’s better safe than sorry. She stays as close to Root’s back as possible while Root hands their coats over in exchange for some little plastic tokens, and leads her back through the mess of people, up the stairs and then down the corridor into the main room.

It is... overwhelming. Music pumps, sinuous and throbbing around her bones, the lights are low and the floor is a pulsing mass of humanity in various states of undress. Even the lyrics she can make out are intensely sexual, _face down, it’s time to be my dog, I’ll push, to get you in that fog,_ a woman sings.

At the end of the—not overly large—room there’s a raised stage, and on it two muscular women take it in turns to crack vicious looking crops across the ass and thighs of a person restrained with thick ropes to a St Andrew’s Cross.

Shaw shivers, desire wrapping claws through her bones, and Root looks over her shoulder as she slips into the crowd, like she felt Shaw’s movement. Shaw clenches at the self-possessed look on Root’s face, at how comfortable she is here. She hastens after her lover, pushing through the sea of bodies, sliding skin against leather against latex against skin.  _Pain turns to pleasure fast, relax, while I pound your ass_ , the woman croons.

Root leads her unerringly around the biggest knots of people until she finds an empty piece of wall with a small, leather-covered stool and a good view of the stage. She pats the stool, “hup,” she mouths, and Shaw obeys, unable to hear her over the music. Root leans against the wall next to her, plays her hand idly down the swathes of exposed skin on Shaw’s back, and generally soothes her with her calm presence until Shaw finds herself relaxing entirely on the seat, able to look around with more interest instead of worrying what people are thinking when they look at her.

A few people engage Root in conversation, and she’s unfailingly polite, but disinterested, occupied with petting Shaw and watching the stage displays, which Shaw keeps pulling her own attention back to between spates of people watching and the occasional unintentional fixation on Root, who looks fucking spectacular, dangerous and leather clad. It’s like Shaw’s eyes get stuck without her realising.

The crop scene is replaced by a complex bondage display, two subs being tied up in multiple positions by their top, a stern-looking man who nevertheless has affection in his eyes as he manipulates the bodies of his two boys into increasingly uncomfortable poses.

Root draws idle patterns on Shaw’s back—her fingers feel like fire. As one of the boys gets lashed onto his toes, the other sub helping take his weight as he leans forwards, off balance, she leans over to speak to Shaw, “the next display is Kid Vicious, they’re really good.” She sounds excited, and Shaw’s eyes catch on the silver ‘adrenaline’ pin standing out starkly on her black leather vest. Root’s arms are bare and her breasts are pushing the thick material into little peaks. Her torso is exposed down to her belly button where the vest is closed with one little clip. No bra. Her tight leather pants are low-slung, purchased that afternoon when Root ducked off from the parade for a moment. The whole look is excellent, and Shaw shifts, turned on past being able to stay still.

Root notices, because of course she does, and smirks that little smirk of hers.

Kid Vicious turns out to be an androgynous person with slicked back hair that Shaw vaguely recognises from one of the kinksites Root prefers. They whip their first sub’s back bloody in an impressive display of accuracy that leaves the word KID displayed in scarlet lines, dripping down towards the waistband of tight little shorts.

Shaw clenches rhythmically as every blow lands. After a while, the sub gets switched out, replaced by someone who gets an altogether less painful experience, centering on control and breathplay with a fair amount of genital stimulation that results in several public orgasms. It does less for Shaw, but it’s still pretty hot, watching someone submit in public like that.

Shaw turns to Root, leaning in a little, and waiting for Root to obligingly shift in before asking, “I didn’t know live sex shows were allowed?” as quietly as she can.

“They’re not, technically, but there are loopholes and security measures in place at things like this. There’s a whole play room downstairs that is mostly live and non-professional sex stuff, if you wanna go check it out?” There’s light dancing in Root’s eyes, and Shaw smiles at how comfortable, she is here, how confident.

“Yeah, okay.” She breathes, Root’s sparkling eyes stoking the raging fire in her belly.

Root nods sharply and helps Shaw down from the stool—doing stuff with your hands restrained is a bit challenging at the best of times and Shaw is so turned on she doesn’t know if her body would do what it’s told. And anyway, Root likes to help, and the ‘inadvertent’ groping definitely isn’t getting any complaints, every light touch sending fireworks and lightning bolts through Shaw’s belly to pool in her groin.

They head downstairs, Root pausing to swipe a bottle of water from a passing server and handing it to Shaw with a command in her eyes. Shaw drinks half and Root takes it back with a stroke down the back of her hand that may as well have been right down her clit.

Shaw feels her heart speed up further as they head away from the main dance room. She’s throbbing all over, beyond glad she’s sober as she doesn’t think her body could take it otherwise. It’s darker, quieter, down here. It reminds her of a dungeon or cellar, heavy and almost ominous.

Her nerves wash through her again with a vengeance as they enter a small space divided with sheets of ply into impromptu octagons. The thud of implements hitting flesh is arrhythmic and unsettling. Root’s hand is suddenly hot on her wrist, above the cuff, and Shaw inhales for the first time in too long, relaxing into the contact.

Calmer, she looks around more carefully. There are benches around the walls, and people heave and writhe, glinting under the low lighting. Some people are sitting, observing, or standing and watching the various groups of people, pairs and threes and fours indulging a whole array of appetites from the simple to the very complex. Shaw’s skin crawls at the sight of someone splayed out over a wide bench with tight metal clips screwed onto her pussy lips. Not into that, then, good to know.

Root takes her cuff chain and leads her around the first section, finds an empty piece of bench and takes a seat, fluidly relaxing against the wall. There’s no space for Shaw, but Root has her legs parted and a look Shaw recognises on her face. She sinks gratefully to her knees between Root’s legs, facing her, and Root plays with her hair for a moment, looking pleased, before twirling her finger so Shaw spins around. She sits back on her heels between Root’s knees, her shoulder bare and sticky against the leather of Root’s pants.

Root’s hand slides into her hair, tugs, turning her to face a bench where two separate pairs of people are engaged in spanking. Shaw inhales, her breath catching. The look on the one sub’s face that she can see is peaceful, tearstained and ecstatic. Her belly slides into liquid heat and Root twists her fingers in her hair, sending small shocks of pain through her in time with the repeated blows landing on bare flesh in front of her.

They stay at the spanking bench for a while, Root hurting Shaw in little, casual ways that bring the heat in her to a simmering boil, her skin sensitive and tight and anticipatory. She wonders how long they’re going to stay, how many hours it will be before Root takes her home and lets the bubble turn into a raging flood. Shaw already feels like she could come apart if she just touched herself for a second, but she doesn’t know how to ask if she’s allowed so she just tries to control herself, taking deep breaths.

There’s about a dozen other people idling around on the benches; one guy receiving a loud and messy blowjob that makes Shaw’s mouth water from the noises, a middle-aged woman absently cupping the pussy of the clean-cut looking twentysomething next to her—who would look completely out of place except for the fact her jeans are missing the entire crotch. A gaggle of student-looking people who seem a little uncomfortable are lingering together near the door. Then there’s a bald, older fellow kneeling next to a young, leather-wearing man in a position that directly mimics Shaw and Root’s own. The Dom keeps trying to catch Shaw’s eye, watching her eagerly and licking his lips. The attention makes her a little uncomfortable. She creeps her hand around Root’s ankle for the contact, and Root rubs her thumb over Shaw’s earlobe in the way that always turns her to mush. She melts against Root’s leg, hoping it’s okay to lean in.

The young Dom looks away from Shaw, over her shoulder, and Shaw has no idea what Root does next but something must have happened, because the next second he blanches, gets to his feet and leads his sub out of the room in haste.

The pairings on the bench switch over, it’s only empty for a moment before a new pair settles in, chooses an implement off the small display under the bench and start making their own fun.

Shaw can feel how sticky her inner thighs are, she’s soaked, the combination of so much to see and look at, the smell of musk and sex everywhere fueling the adrenaline and nerves in her. Most of all, the reassuring presence of Root spiking it all with little touches and sparks. She shivers as Root runs her thumb down Shaw’s neck, still hopelessly turned on.

Root leans down, licks Shaw’s earlobe, making her flinch and clench, a little moan tumbling out unintentionally. She wonders if she’ll come just from Root paying small attentions like that to her, her whole body flush with heat.

“Lover, I’d like to use the bench with you.” And Shaw’s belly flips over, conflicting thoughts swirling through her. She’s so fucking desperate she feels like she might explode, but she also feels exposed and unsure, maybe nervous even. Root waits expectantly, leaning forward so she’ll hear if Shaw replies, and words catch on Shaw’s tongue because she wants to ask ‘to do what?’, ‘for how long?’, ‘what do you want from me?’ but she doesn’t want to let Root down and when she looks at her, desperate to have everything just stop for a second so she can _think,_ the light catches oddly on Root’s face and she looks like a stranger.

Then she smiles, soft with affection, and it’s _Root._ Root who cooks waffles in boxers with stupid slogans on them and Shaw’s tank tops because they’re ‘more comfortable’, Root who never pushes her to talk or makes her feel stupid for not having the words sometimes, Root who finds a thousand small ways to make her life better without expecting anything that Shaw can’t give in return, Root who’ll hurt her and hold her and read her body or maybe even her mind sometimes and make everything in Shaw just fucking... sing.

“Green.”

She almost looks around to see who said it, before she realises it was her, and Root gives her this slow, sticky grin that turns everything in Shaw to jelly and suddenly she’s being lead over to the bench without being conscious of getting to her feet.

Root murmurs to her quietly as she unclips her handcuffs, “that’s right, my darlin’, you’re so good, so gorgeous. Everyone’s going to be so jealous,” and the praise spreads warm under Shaw’s skin while Root urges Shaw over her lap, reclipping her hands behind her back. Shaw’s spread out, ass in the air and face pressed down into the leather of the bench. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, listen to me, look at me.” For the hundredth time that evening she wishes her hair was down—there are eyes on her everywhere she looks, making her feel helpless and naked and exposed. She can’t see Root properly, but Root shifts and leans over, finds her eyes and smooths her thumb down Shaw’s cheekbone. “Close your eyes, sweet girl, I”ve got you.”

Shaw shivers and obeys, closing her eyes, letting the feel of Root’s hands on her be the only tether, letting the weight of other eyes soften and settle. Root will take care of her, Root will look after her, everything will be okay as long as Root has her.

Cool air hits her backside as Root pulls her leather skirt up and out of the way, leaving her in the lacy black panties and little else. She kind of thinks Root will ease her in, start slow, but the first, devastating blow of Root’s hand against her asscheek quickly revises her of that notion. The pain bursts through her, washes right into her clit, and she moans helplessly as the second lands fast and sure and white-hot right next to it.

By the fifth blow she’s almost forgotten where they are, blinks her eyes open and is momentarily shocked by the sight of people watching them. There’s more there than were before, a tangle of twenty odd people, sitting, standing and watching. One of them winks at her from his position on his knees next to his Dom, and Shaw shuts her eyes again, escaping from the expectation in their eyes. The idea of them watching is good, she can feel their excitement and it’s tingling through her, but she doesn’t want to watch them watching, doesn’t know where or how to look.

Root reaches ten, the pain building and spangling through her like mini supernovas, before there’s a moment of respite, and then something hard and cold caresses her ass, feels like ice against her stinging skin. A paddle, she has enough time to register, prepare, and then the pain hits her before the sound of the impact does. It blasts through her, it might be the hardest Root’s ever hit her, and everything jangles, she’s spiralling out of her body as the paddle descends again and again and everything becomes the impact of leather on tender flesh and the gentle weight of Root’s hand on the small of her back, holding her into her own skin.

It surges through her, blow after blow, heat and light bursting and bursting, her clit throbbing with the reverberations, her whole body washed with pain-pleasure so thick she can hardly breathe past it, if not for the soothing presence of Root’s palm pressing against her and the heat of eyes licking over her like fire.

Root switches back to her hand, the paddle laid down in front of Shaw on the bench. The skin-on-skin impact hurtshurtshurts but it’s a different kind of pain, sparking every nerve ending, every cell in her body tingling and soaring, endorphins soaking her system.

She opens her eyes, the guy who winked at her before is still looking at her, lust and a desperate kind of want smearing his features soft and open. Root’s hand cracks against her ass again, and she moans, unable to swallow it, she can feel thick tears forming in her eyes, they split the room into prismatic slices, and the beautiful, unbelievable pain builds and builds with every hard strike of Root’s hand.

She’s not even aware she’s squirming down, trying to get more stimulation on her clit to break up the pain-pain-pain until Root leans over, pausing the blows and murmurs in her ear, “you can come for me, lover, if you want to. I’d like that,” and Shaw abruptly realises she’s squeezing her thighs together, there’s blood in her mouth, and she’s clenching down on absolutely nothing in sporadic, subconscious waves.

Root’s hand lands again, and she falls into it, everything taken over by the roaring tidal wave of sensation until Root strokes down her thigh, pulls back for another hit and then lands it softly, right against her pussy.

Shaw bites the leather as she comes, flooding with pleasure, her body tensing and then melting over Root’s lap. She’s panting, jerking, drooling on the leather. It’s sticky and wet under her face and she’s crying now, properly, sobs tearing in her chest and she doesn’t know _why,_ just that she can’t swallow them. She’s full and empty and floating, pleasure tingling through every fiber of her body and nothingnothingnothing but Root’s hands on her, soothing strokes down her back, a hand in her hair, scratching gently until Shaw’s limp and heavy, unable to tense her muscles even enough to relieve the weight of her head pressing uncomfortably onto her nose, squashed into the bench.

Root strokes her back into herself, back into her skin, strokes the shape of Shaw until Shaw remembers it herself, and thuds back into awareness with a dazed sort of shudder. She's soaked the bench, can feel her come sliding against her thighs and the leather of Root's pants.

She’s uncuffed, gentled, helped to her feet, and she can’t stand on her heels any more and Root kneels, someone steadies Shaw with kind hands and Root takes her shoes off, pulls her skirt back down and slides her arm around Shaw’s waist. She leads her out of the room, away from the people, and Shaw can’t really see or think, everything’s kind of fuzzy and distant until somehow she’s in bed, at the hotel.

There are cool packs on her ass, familiar and soothing and uncomfortable all at once, and Root’s hand is in her hair. Shaw’s face is pillowed on Root’s thigh, she’s lying mostly on her front, wet and limp and her insides feel glossy somehow, like she might be glowing.

It takes her a while to find her voice, remember what talking is, and the first time she garbles her question, making Root smile warmly at her and smooth her hair off her face while she waits for Shaw to get the words clear.

Shaw tries again, desperate to be sure, “was I good?” 

Root looks like there’s something shining in her chest that comes right out her eyes, her voice is thick with affection when she replies, “oh, lover, you were _perfect._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think it would be mean of Root to hit Shaw super hard in front of everyone, you'd be right. Trust me :) 
> 
> Also, I wrote this from Shaw's perspective because I thought it was important to get in her head for her first kink party, and it was pretty difficult but a huge thanks to [AliceinKinkland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland) for beta reading this one and giving me really useful feedback. 
> 
> And thanks as always to the amazing [LapseinJudgement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapseinjudgment/profile) who betas everything and fixes all my stupid mistakes and generally improves the story massively. She even lets me yell about my timeline and doesn't mind being spoilered in order to solve my problems for me.


	15. Morning Comes

Root’s already up and reading by the time Shaw stirs from her little nest of blankets. Root leans over and scritches Shaw’s hair gently while she blinks her eyes open sleepily, “morning, sweetie.”

“Mmm,” Shaw hums, wriggling over and pressing herself up against Root’s cotton clad leg, “hi.”

  
Root puts her kindle down on the table and squirms into the warmth of Shaw’s body, pressing her mouth against the rise of Shaw’s eyebrow and curling her arm around Shaw’s hip.

Shaw purrs happily and worms her hand down the back of Root’s tartan jammy pants, “warm.”

“You wanna have a bath?” Root inquires, stroking the soft skin above Shaw’s hipbone.

“With you,” Shaw decides, pressing her mouth into Root’s neck, “and petting.”

“Sounds good,” Root grins into her hair, and obediently stays cozy when Shaw protests as she starts to move.

They loll around in bed for a bit and then Root gets up to run Shaw a bath, poking her head around the bathroom door to tell her it’s ready.

Shaw uncurls and carefully swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and cocks her head to one side, thoughtfully, “huh.”

“What?” Root asks, checking the water temperature one last time before pulling her pyjamas off and sliding into the water, leaning back against a towel over the cold slope of ceramic.

“I don’t hurt,” Shaw replies, wandering into the bathroom and shedding her clothes, trying to look at her own butt in the mirror, “you hit me really hard.”

Root swallows the soft laugh that wants to puff out, and splooshes the water, idly admiring the faint and sparse red splotching on Shaw’s perfect butt, “oh I did?"

Shaw gives up looking at herself and slots into the bath, splashing water around a bit and settling between Root’s long legs before pulling Root’s arms around her and relaxing against her chest. “Yeah, it was super intense. Like the most intense you’ve ever hit me.” She pouts a little, but clearly doesn’t mean it in a bad way.

Root hums, kissing Shaw’s neck, “you seemed really strung out, I went easy on you.”

“Humph,” Shaw clenches her butt muscles, testing, and twists her mouth to the side, “weird.”

“Not really,” Root teases Shaw’s belly button with her index finger, which Shaw ‘hates’ and always tries to wriggle away from, “there was a lot going on, not surprising you were overstimulated.”

“Oh,” Shaw traps Root’s annoying hand and lifts it to her mouth, gnaws on the knuckle idly before speaking around it, “I thought it would have been pretty mean of you to hit me extra hard in front of everyone.”

“Yeah, that does sound pretty mean,” Root tries hard to keep the teeny smirk out of her voice, but Shaw clearly hears it anyway and twists to give her a stern look, which dissolves into a grin when Root blinks innocently at her.

“I had a really good time,” Shaw turns back to face the taps, poking her big toe up inside the spout of one and wriggling her foot, “I was okay, right?”

Root thinks, suddenly, that maybe Shaw thought she was lying last night when she told her how good she was, and that drives the mirth away. She pulls Shaw more firmly against her body, runs the top of her foot down Shaw’s exposed calf, “you were amazing, Sameen. I couldn’t ... absolutely didn’t need anything different from you.”

“Okay.” Shaw drops her foot out of the tap with a splash and draws patterns on Root’s thigh, pressed against her hip.

“I...” Root pauses, trying to find the right words, “I’ve never gone to a party with someone like that before. It was new for me too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shaw demands, poking Root hard enough to make a little pink mark blossom and fade on her leg muscle.

“I should have,” Root concedes, even though she would have brought it up if they’d talked about it. But Shaw hadn’t given her a chance when there was an actual situation in her future that would have made that relevant. She always kind of assumed Shaw would come and talk to her about parties in her own time, and clearly that was a tactical error.

Shaw humphs and finds Root’s hand, threads their fingers together and uses them to draw a star over the tiny blotch on Root’s thigh, so Root guesses they’re good. Shaw often does the star thing when she doesn’t seem to know what to say, but wants to do something that connects them. She wonders what it means to Shaw, but doesn’t ask. It might make Shaw more aware of it, which could mean she stops doing it, and that’s the last thing Root wants.

They laze about in the bath, and then the bed, watching Resident Evil at Shaw’s request, and eating enough pancakes to sink a small ship.

After their cozy morning Shaw is feeling balanced enough she wants to go and do things, so they text the team to find out where they are. Joss replies pretty fast with a picture of a huge plate of mussels and a pitcher of beer and an address.

By the time they get to the restaurant the moules and frites have already been dealt with, but they join in for another pitcher and then wander down to the pier. Shaw dominates on the zombie shooting game, John is shockingly good at Dance Dance Revolution, and Zoe manages to get three phone numbers, being more interested in the random Brighton hotties than playing any of the myriad of games.

A local pub is advertising a Trivia night when they meander along the seafront, and they unanimously elect Joss as captain of Team Machine as they settle in at a corner booth.

Between the six of them they have an excellent handle on most of the categories: Shaw and John taking the lead in sport, Harry being the go to political smarty pants, Zoe handling current affairs like some sort of maverick, and Joss having killer general knowledge of some of the most random things imaginable. Root herself handles tech with Harry, and a good bit of the music is in her ballpark. At the end of the first round they’re in third place, beaten only by the Clitoris Allsorts, a grungey group of probably queer girls, and the Belgariad, a nerdy-looking group who are apparently the reigning champs.

Things get interesting when the between round competitions are announced. Shaw does everyone proud scoring a point in the down-a-pint round, and they catch up a bit in the second round of general knowledge after that, putting them in joint second place.

The emcee announces the next between-round competition as ‘no hesitation, repetition or deviation’ and Zoe just about falls out of her chair volunteering, to loud cheers from the now slightly inebriated team.

She fucking nails the competition to the wall, managing to word vomit about Star Wars, then pineapples, and in the last round, hypothetical substructures which Root thought was an extremely hard category until Zoe just started making shit up. When she’s challenged by a sweaty boy from the nerd group, Zoe points out that nowhere in the rules does it say that the information produced has to be factual, and takes them into the lead on points as well as winning them a round of shots.

Unfortunately, the Clitoris Allsorts come into their own in the third question round, and the Team leave tipsy but pretty happy with their second place prizes of tshirts and shot glasses.


	16. The Storm is Coming {the storm is coming in}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [Degausser](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-yaTMXph_c), an amazing song

The next day heralds the drive to London, and traffic is brutal. Root weaves through the jampacked lanes confidently, leaving the Love Bus far behind. They’re staying in a six-bed dorm in a hostel, and Shaw texts Zoe to make sure they get some warning before the rest of the team arrive.

After taking the opportunity to fuck since they probably won’t get to for another for a couple of days until they’re in Scotland and have an apartment reserved, Shaw and Root are napping by the time the rest of the team makes it. 

They spend the afternoon walking around the city and then get sausages and mash for dinner in a truly British pub and then enjoy a couple of drinks in SoHo before heading back to the hostel. 

It’s a pretty nice room, white walls and steel bunkbeds, although John has been pouting about having to sleep apart from Harold all day. Shaw is not super pleased about spending the night in a shitty single bed, but obviously not because she wants to cuddle Root, just cause single beds are small and stupid. 

They all get ready for bed and bundle down. Root has taken the top bunk that’s pressed short side to short side against Shaw’s, and Shaw jumps when something moves on her pillow until she realises it’s Root’s hand, poked through the bars.

She takes it carefully and curls her fingers around Root’s. They don’t hold hands very often, but Root has been exceptionally needy, physical intimacy wise, since they found the paintings, and it doesn’t make Shaw’s skin crawl, most of the time. 

Shaw falls asleep fast, like always, tumbling into soft, dream-free blackness.

There’s a scream. 

She almost falls out of bed, would have, if it wasn’t for the bar framing the side. Her heart thumping, she looks around in the darkness, trying to figure out what woke her. Below her, Joss mumbles, “what’s going on?” 

Root screams again. It’s an awful sound, earsplitting in the small room and suddenly everyone is moving, the light clicks on just as Shaw tumbles over the small barrier separating her from Root’s bed, hands frantically padding at her shoulders where she’s practically on top of Root. 

“Root, Root wake up, you’re okay. Hi,” Shaw tries to keep her voice soothing as she pulls Root’s eyemask clear and Root blinks up at her, disoriented and pale. 

“Oh my God,” she breathes, after a minute, soft, and squirms away from Shaw, swinging over the edge of the bunk onto the ladder and dropping down with swift, harsh movements. She doesn’t look at anyone as she grabs a keycard, a lighter and a joint off the dresser and leaves the room, clad only in her small blue shorts and Shaw’s Ghostbusters tee.

“She okay?” Zoe inquires. Everyone looks a bit shaken up, not sure what to do, and Joss slides out of bed, grabs Root’s sweater and holds it out to Shaw expectantly.

Oh, yeah.

Shaw climbs down from the bunk, feeling awkward and uncomfortable with the eyes on her, “that happen a lot?” Zoe pushes, and Shaw shakes her head, pulling her own hoodie on and grabbing her phone and keycard. 

“No. Go back to sleep.” 

She finds Root trembling on the stairs to the hostel. The street is dark, hardly illuminated at all, and the building they’re staying in has a small yard leading up to the steps, leaving Root totally in shadow. Shaw puts the hoodie over Root’s thin shoulders and sits down next to her, carefully leaving space between them. Root’s never pushed her away before, and she doesn’t know what to do.

After a few minutes of silence, Root exhales in a brutal, shuddering breath, and puts her head between her knees. Her back shakes, and tentatively Shaw reaches out to rub a circle on her spine, feeling like she’s completely off-roading, emotionally.

Root doesn’t shrug her hand off, but lets Shaw move closer while she cries, until Shaw is turned sideways and has Root between her legs, holding her against her chest. 

The moon peeps out from behind clouds while they wait, Shaw’s butt getting progressively colder and colder. She wonders how long Root will want to stay outside, when they can go back to bed. She’s tired. 

When Root’s done crying, she picks the spliff up from the stone next to her, and tries to light it but her hands are shaking too much. Shaw carefully takes it off her, and sparks it up, handing it back and watching as Root takes a huge drag, holding it in her lungs before exhaling a plume that fogs in front of them and dissipates. 

“Will you... will you tell them about Hanna?” Root mutters, after a minute of silent smoking. “I don’t think I can.” 

“Yeah okay. If you want.” Shaw chews on her lip, fiddling with the edge of Root’s sweater. “You don’t have to, though. Tell them anything.”

Root shrugs, rubbing her hand over her face, “I feel like if I’m gonna wake them up screaming I probably should,” she takes another big drag on the joint and shuffles away from Shaw, almost imperceptibly. “I’m gonna stay out here, for a while. I need... I need some space.”

Shaw nods, leaning over and pressing her face against Root’s cheek for a moment. Root leans into her and then they’re kissing, smoke and salt flavoured. Root gasps into her mouth, not an aroused gasp, a hurting gasp, and Shaw gentles the kiss, pulls back and presses her phone into Root’s hand.

“Don’t... don’t go anywhere without telling me, please?” 

Root laughs softly, without humour and waggles her bare toes against the stone in reply. Shaw nods and tugs her hair lightly before getting to her feet and pressing her card against the reader which flicks to green. “Root..” Root looks up at her, huge shadows under her eyes emphasised by the low lighting and her paleness. “Just... I think you didn’t,” Shaw waves at her head, “process anything, before. And now you are. But it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Yeah.” Root exhales tiredly, puts her chin on her elbow, “I’ll be in in a minute, Sameen.” 

Shaw’s so glad Root used that name, the close-name, that she relaxes a little, nodding. 

No one is asleep in the dorm room: John is on Harry’s bunk with Harold’s head in his lap, playing with his hair, Joss and Zoe are sat together on Zoe’s bottom bunk, and they all look up at Shaw expectantly when she pushes the door open. 

She sighs, putting her stuff down and scuffing her foot on the carpet. “Root’s just gonna stay outside for a minute. But she wants me to tell you why she’s all weird. So I guess, uh..” Shaw climbs up her ladder to her bunk, then thinks better of it and wriggles over the barrier into Root’s bed. It smells like her, still holds a faint trace of body heat. Shaw settles under the blanket and leans against the wall. Now she can’t see anyone’s faces. It’s better.

Taking a deep breath, she starts talking. She sounds wooden in her own ears as she repeats what Root told her about the night Hanna died. She tells the Team that they found some of Hanna’s paintings under Root’s bed when Shaw was moving in, and that Root’s dealing with some stuff right now. She doesn’t mention the phone, or the sixty two missed calls, or the fact the paintings were specifically forgeries of Van Gogh. She’s not sure if Root would want everyone piling in on that particular situation and she wants to wait to ask. She thinks the murdered best friend thing covers most of the immediate need to bring the team in. 

When she’s done, Zoe exhales and reaches up from the under bunk, pats Shaw’s foot where it’s protruding under the metal bar, “that’s fucking heavy.”

“Let us know if we can do anything,” Joss agrees.

“I don’t think there’s anything  _ to  _ do,” Shaw demurs, but she can hear the gratitude in her words. 

“We should go back to bed,” Joss says, after a minute, and there’s a murmur of agreement. She clicks the main light off, leaving a lamp on. Everyone sort of shuffles around awkwardly into their own spots, except Shaw who curls up on her side in Root’s bed, waiting.

After a while, the room door clicks open, and everyone either pretends to be asleep or doesn’t wake up. Shaw shuffles to the edge of Root’s bed, “hey,” trying to make sure she doesn’t scare her.

Root manages a weak smile, hardly visible in the dark, and pulls her sweater off before climbing up, slotting in front of Shaw without saying anything. She curls up small, holding her own knees, and Shaw wraps her arms around her, holding her close in to her body heat and what she hopes is the comfort of contact.

It takes Root a while to fall asleep, and Shaw doesn’t close her eyes until Root’s breathing’s evened into the slightly arrhythmic flutter it takes on when she’s actually down for the count. 


	17. Doing it Anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Some 'we are in a dorm room full of people but are doing it anyway' smut, marked with a rule.

Root wakes up disoriented, heart pounding. Her arm is wedged against something hard and Shaw’s practically on top of her. She can smell Shaw’s hair, tangled over her face, and she wriggles into the familiar warmth and scent of her lover, pressing against those strong, protective curves.

Shaw mumbles something drowsily and puts her hand down the back of Root’s pants, and Root buries her face in Shaw’s neck, breathes her in and hums against the tendons that shift as Shaw slowly swims awake. 

There’s something sick and cold left over from her dreams, curdled in the base of her belly and prickling in the nape of her neck, and Root thinks drowning herself in Shaw is probably the best possible solution. The heat that pools between her legs when Shaw sleepily squeezes the curve of her ass certainly helps drive away the lingering sense of discomfort clinging to her body. 

She rolls on top of Shaw, bites down onto the curve of her shoulder, and Shaw shudders fully awake, blinking sleepily—she rarely sleeps with an eye mask—looking up at Root with soft creases in her cheek from the pillow and an eyebrow so enticingly dishevelled that Root tries to neaten it up with her mouth.

Shaw makes a throaty, grumbling sound, letting her legs fall open and Root settle between them, and then abruptly stiffens, pushes at Root’s shoulder and waving at the room.

_ Oh.  _ The room. The room full of the team. Root’s sleep blurred brain abruptly pulls her out of the fantasy of being in their own huge bed and shoves her back into the bunk bed she’s actually lying in. That explains the metal bar behind her. 

Heat is pulsing through her, though, and she  _ wants _ , a ball of nerves and coiled tension demanding somewhere to go. She swallows thickly, trying to get herself under control.

* * *

 

Shaw props up on one elbow, breathing out slowly and peering over the bar towards the rest of the room.  She waits for a few, long minutes, and then lifts a shoulder, pushing her hand down the front of Root’s pants without further ado, dragging her fingertips gently across the sensitive, demanding flesh that waits there.

Root buries her teeth in Shaw’s shoulder so she doesn’t groan with the delicate exploration, practically holding her breath and vibrating with tension as Shaw slowly drags liquid heat up over her clit and firmly massages the jangling bud. 

Apparently Shaw has decided everyone is asleep enough that fucking in the bunkbed is an acceptable move, and Root is not feeling inclined to disagree as Shaw slides her hand down further, trapping her clit between two fingers and pressing against Root’s entrance gently. Root grabs Shaw’s hip and taps three times for red, and Shaw immediately retreats, re-focusing her attentions on the tender bundle of nerves above. 

Root’s tense and tight, ears peeled for any noise or movement in the dorm, but the only sound is of John’s deep breathing and the occasional ruck of sheets as Zoe sleep-kicks. Shaw gently pulls her shoulder away from Root’s mouth, stills her fingers. She leans up for Root’s ear, whispering, “okay?” so quietly it’s almost non-existent, her fingers still agonisingly motionless.   
**  
** “Please, please, Sameen,” Root murmurs, unable to stop the words from tripping out, shaky and desperate. She doesn’t think she’s begged Shaw to touch her before, but the look of sudden and unfocused lust that washes over Shaw’s face at the words make her feel like she might do it more often. She can’t focus on anything except the need built up inside her.

Shaw makes a little pleased sound and strokes her fingertips slowly across Root’s clit, too gentle, too broad.

“Please,” Root repeats, heady and lost in the demands of her body and the fire dripping through her veins, wanting more and closer and harder and  _ Shaw _ .

“Mmm,” Shaw purrs it almost silently, before angling herself better and meeting Root’s mouth in a kiss as she touches Root with more purpose. 

Root’s too on edge, too dazed, to really kiss back properly, but Shaw breathes into her mouth and bites her lip gently with a sound of satisfaction when Root shakes apart against her, shuddering through a silent orgasm that leaves her spent and quietly panting against Shaw’s body. 

Shaw pulls her fingers gently out of Root’s pants and cleans them off with her tongue, making a small satisfied noise at the taste and slinging her leg over Root’s hip, pinning her to the mattress with her body. 

The sight of Shaw sucking her fingers clean sends fresh heat flashing through Root, but she’s exhausted, wrung out and orgasm-wasted and she doesn’t even mumble an objection when Shaw pulls the sheet back over them properly, they’d not even fully kicked it off.

* * *

She wakes up again better, later, to the sound of John’s low voice bass-rumbling through the room. He really does sound like Batman sometimes, she smiles, pushing her bum back against Shaw’s thighs with a cozy little cat-stretch.

Shaw pushes her hand under Root’s shirt and splays her fingers on her belly, draws a little star with her thumb, “shuddup, Reese,” she complains, and Root squirms comfortably, enjoying the lassitude of a nice, post-orgasm nap.

“I’m gonna eat your bagel,” John threatens, and Shaw squawks indignantly, wriggling away from Root and climbing athletically down to the ground using the short end of the bed. 

“Coffee?” Root inquires, hopefully, and Shaw pads back over, having procured Root’s vanilla latte from the Starbucks coffee carrier John must have brought back with him. “Hero,” Root takes it and wriggles into a sitting position, taking a little hamster sip through the plastic opening in the cover. She doesn’t specify if she’s talking to Shaw or John. 

Her coffee is divine, and she reluctantly chews on a plain bagel when Shaw hands it up with a ‘you better eat this,’ look on her face. Root much prefers when that look is focused on something different. She smirks at her own joke, feeling much more relaxed after getting to sleep pressed up on Shaw after all and coming all over her fingers. 

They’re just getting sorted to pack the car up when Shaw’s phone rings, and she hands it to Root at the sight of an unknown number on the screen—Shaw dislikes speaking on the phone in general, but usually won’t even pick up if it’s an unknown number. That drives Root nuts so they’ve compromised on Root answering.

Root picks up, shoving her bag onto the backseat of the Love Bus and nodding at John that she’s done. “Root.”

“Uh, hey Root, it’s Dani.” The voice is familiar, but Root can’t place it until the caller continues to fill the pause, “Dani Silva, known to Elaine as Aunty Dyke?”

“Oh, hey, Dani. What’s up?” It is  _ super  _ weird for Dani to be calling Shaw, and Root hopes it’s not another babysitting favour. Regardless of the fact they’re out of the country anyway, Root does not want this to turn into a regular thing.

“Well, a couple of hours ago Elaine said she saw someone outside, and I went onto the balcony to check cause she was freaked out... and whaddya know, the kid was right. There was someone on your balcony, trying to pick the lock to your French doors. They saw me and legged it, too fast for me to do anything. I called the precinct to file a report, but I thought you should know. The landlord only had one number on file for you, and it’s dead, so I hope you don’t mind but I got Shaw’s number from a Cole on her facebook.”

“Shit,” Root says, succinctly, “so they didn’t get in?” 

“No, they were trying. Not very well. Dunno why the fuck they were close enough for Elaine to spot them. I did get a picture, though. It’s kind of blurry, but you never know. I’ll text it to this number when we’re done.”

“Okay, thanks, Dani. Uh, let me know if anything else happens? I’ll call the landlord now and try to figure something out.” 

“No worries. The case number is one, zero, seven, twelve, thirty-two, four.” She pauses, and Root mms in confirmation that she has it. “Elaine and Joshua say ‘hi’,” Dani sounds like she’s done with the phone call, no need to chat, and Root is grateful. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose, “alright tell them we say hi too, bye.” She hangs up without waiting for an answer.

“What?” Shaw inquires, slamming the trunk and holding her hand out for her phone, just as a message comes through. 

Root looks at the screen, looks again, looks some more and doesn’t stop looking until Shaw impatiently snatches it off her, “what happened?”

“Well, from the looks of things, Dani Silva, our new cop neighbour, caught Kelli that we fucked that time trying to break into our apartment via the balcony.”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Shaw glares at the picture, blurry, but pretty recognisable. Kelli has one leg swung over the balcony, she’s dressed all in black, and she looks like she’s about to throw herself off the third floor.

“Pretty much.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're left thinking 'but canonically, Kelli is an extremely good thief', trust me.


	18. Rob Us Like One of Our Threeway Girls

It takes Root nearly an hour to talk to the police, who have no more information that Dani had given herself. After that, she calls an alarm company and passes on her landlord’s information, arranging to have a full system installed. 

The Team are wandering around Camden market, with Root ensconced in a park a few blocks away. Shaw offered to stay with her, but Root didn’t see the point. Before she texts them to find out where they are, she calls Romeo.

“Hey, it’s Root.”

“Uh, hi, what’s up?” Romeo inquires, sounding slightly confused. She doesn’t blame him, she’s probably only called him a handful of times in their five year friendship.

“You know a thief called Kelli working out of the city?” Root gets straight to the point, not seeing any reason to mess about.

“Not off the top of my head.”

“Well, from the sounds of it she’s not a very good one, but I need to find her. I’m gonna text you a picture, can you put out some feelers? Subtle as you can, mind.” Root cracks her neck and steps out of her tree shade into the sun, starting towards the market. If Romeo doesn’t have info for her now, she may as well go mooch about with the Team. 

“Alright, I’ll ask around, see what people are saying. What do you wanna do if I get a bead on her?” Romeo sounds fainter, like he’s wedging the phone against his shoulder.

“If you can get me some contact info, that would be best, but if not, give her a message for me?”

“Sure, what’s the word?”

“Tell her Root wants to talk, and give her this number.” Root decides. She could hand Kelli over to the cops once she finds her, but she thinks gathering information is a better plan. It seems extremely unlikely that Kelli has decided to break in now, months after meeting Root and Shaw, and even if she’d cased the place when she was there it’s not like there’s a lot of value. A few computers, sure, but Kelli had been wearing a Gucci dress so she probably doesn’t need to make a few hundred bucks off second hand electronics, even really good ones. So it would make more sense if someone had sent Kelli to their house... and the only reason Root can think of is that it’s something to do with Hanna. 

“Alright. Anything else?” 

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any idea how much six forged Starry Night’s would be worth, do you?” Root inquires on a whim.

There’s a couple of beats of silence over the line, and then Romeo’s voice comes through again. “Between two hundred and four hundred million, probably. Depending on if you had buyers lined up convinced it was the real deal. I mean, the original’s worth about a hundred million so if you got really clever you could maybe get six hundred million for ‘em.” He sounds shocked.

“Right then..” Root exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose, “looks like I might have accidentally upset someone really, really rich. Be careful looking for Kelli, okay?”

“Yeah. That it?” 

“Yep,” Root hangs up without saying good bye. She chews on her lip as she heads down the street, grabbing a panini from a cafe and eating it distractedly. She finds the Team trying on Doc Martens at a small stall and tugs Shaw’s belt loop, almost overbalancing her and eliciting a faux-glare. 

“What did the cops say?” Shaw inquires, still standing on one leg as she does the laces up on one blood red boot.

“Nothing. I’ve got a company coming to install a full alarm system, and Romeo’s looking for Kelli,” Root catches Shaw up quickly, and Zoe snakes her arm round Root’s waist companionably. 

“I can’t believe a girl you banged tried to break into your apartment, that’s fucking ridic,” she declares, pointing at her feet, “but aren’t these boots dope?”

They are dope, shiny gold with silver lines like scales all over them, and Root nods agreement, “I guess she must have been looking for the paintings? Like... I can’t imagine any other reason for trying to bust into our place.”

“Hanna’s paintings?” Zoe inquires, unpeeling and pulling her wallet out to pay for the boots, “why would anyone want those?” 

Root raises an eyebrow at Shaw, and Shaw shrugs, looking uncomfortable, “I didn’t wanna come and check what I was supposed to tell them so I did the bare minimum...” she squirms and Root nods, understanding. 

“Uh, we should probably go sit down somewhere and talk, then. When you guys have your boots...” 

Shaw buys the oxblood boots, Joss gets some subtle gray flower print ones, and John buys a classic black pair to replace his ones that he says have worn through in the sole. 

It takes less than a complete coffee at a small cafe to fill the team in properly, and when she’s done talking, Joss puts her head in her hands, with a completely bemused face on. “How does this stuff keep happening to you?”  She asks, incredulous. 

Shaw scoffs, “well, the Martine thing wasn’t really anything to do with Root...”

“And the NOVA situation was pretty much my fault....” Harold chimes in, and Joss snorts.

“Yeah, you’re right, Zoe and I are the only ones who  _ haven’t  _ dragged us all headlong into some wild and dangerous nonsense.” Joss links arms with Zoe, who looks very smug.

John raises a hand tentatively, “uh, I haven’t really done anything either?”

“The Machine was totally your gay love child, John, you were  _ raising  _ an AI with Harold.” Shaw thwaps him on the arm and he pouts, subsiding.

“Regardless of who’s fault it is...” Root breaks in, dead serious, “Hanna died. Probably because of something to do with these paintings, and I’m gonna find out what happened. I was... I was gonna wait and let NOVA figure it out for me when They’re back online, but it doesn’t look like I’m gonna get that chance.”

“Shouldn’t you just... hand the paintings over to the police and let them deal with it?” Joss inquires, leaning her elbow on the table.

“Well.. as it turns out, those paintings could be worth like six hundred million dollars... so I’m not totally sure that handing them over to the police is gonna dissuade whoever is trying to get them back...” Root winces at the shocked look on Shaw’s face. 

“Jesus fuck me sideways running through a cornfield,” Zoe hisses, “are you saying you have six hundred  _ million _ dollars worth of forged art under your bed?”

“Between the bed and the wall, actually.” Shaw blinks slowly, looking shell-shocked. “Holy shit.” 

“Well, I, for one, am glad you’re not at home right now.” Harold speaks up for the first time, blinking owlishly behind his spectacles. “Should we call Control? I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to endanger ourselves.”

“I trust Control about as far as I could throw her,” Root replies, shaking her head, the very idea of handing this over to the woman who tortured her makes her shiver. “I don’t want her involved. But... I don’t need you guys in on this either. I understand if it’s too much and you want to ... I don’t know. See me back in Seattle when this is all dealt with.” She shifts uncomfortably, feeling something hot like guilt curling in her stomach at the idea of dragging her friends into another dangerous situation.

“Awesome, see ya then,” Zoe gets to her feet and pushes back from the table, and then snorts, sitting back down, “don’t be a fuckwit, Root, you need us. Shaw and John are the muscle, you and Harry are the brains, Joss and I are the grounding force that keeps it all from exploding and stop everyone from doing something fucking stupid.” 

Root laughs quietly, filled with warmth, and takes Zoe’s hand over the table, squeezing it gently, looking around to see the sentiment echoed on the faces around her. “Alright, well, I guess we have a forgery mystery to solve.”   
  
“We need to know about Hanna, I think,” Joss says slowly, “how she got mixed up in this. If we can find that out we might be able to find out who was involved.” 


	19. You Animals

“She was really good at art. Really good,” Root starts slowly, curling her hands around her still warm coffee mug. Shaw resists the urge to reach out and touch her delicate fingers where they’re pale against the blue ceramic. “She even did signatures and certificates and stuff. She used to charge $10 for a forged note from the school or parents, but she never would have come up with the idea of forging a Van Gogh by herself. And even if she did... she’d tell me. Someone must have recruited her and made her keep it quiet. We told each other  _ everything.  _ And I don’t know why someone would want her. Why Hanna?” 

“Forgive me if this seems insensitive,” Harold starts delicately, leaning forward to look at Root past John, “but from what I gathered you come from a rather low socioeconomic background, is that accurate?” 

“Harold,” Joss frowns at him, and Root snorts, waving her hand.

“Yeah, I grew up dirt poor. Like, no shoes poor.” Shaw shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She gets a weird image of baby Root all skinny angles and lanky limbs, with falling apart shoes and patched clothes. It makes her feel hot and angry.

“And Hanna also?” Harold continues.

“A little better than me, but not much. I started earning decent money online when I was fourteen, saved up for university.” Shaw sees where Harold is going, and so, it appears does Root, as she nods, “I would have paid for Hanna, but she got a scholarship. That’s why we ended up here. Good art program, and she got a full ride.” 

“Interesting,” Harold takes his chromebook out of his ever present bag that John always carries for him, and flips it open, typing rapidly. Shaw shifts to try and look at the screen, but she can’t. “So would it be considered at all suspicious that the University doesn’t seem to have any full ride scholarships in the arts program.”

“That does sound pretty suspicious,” Joss nods, setting her coffee cup down and glancing around as though to check no one is listening. Shaw has to say she’s mighty grateful they’re not in Seattle right now. 

“So there’s probably a connection between the scholarship Hanna got and the forged paintings?” Zoe chimes in, leaning over to thumb whip cream off the top of Joss’ lip. 

“Follow the money,” John nods solemnly, and then shrugs a shoulder when everyone looks at him. “What? That’s a super famous quote. Sometimes I know things.”

Harold smiles affectionately and squeezes John’s shoulder, “exactly. We follow the money, see if we can’t locate a source. If someone paid for Hanna’s education that could have convinced her to get involved with this scheme.” 

Joss sits back in her chair, crossing her legs, “why don’t we ask Caleb to look into it? The show is starting in an hour and we still have a two hour drive after that.” She gestures at the computer wedged onto the small coffee table, “and this is hardly optimal conditions for research.”

“The wifi here is rather sporadic,” Harold concurs, looking to Root, and she sniffs, and nods, looking torn.

“He did like Hanna,” she shrugs a shoulder.

“Ask him? Tell him we think whoever paid for Hanna’s scholarship got her killed and see if he wants to help,” Shaw wriggles uncomfortably in her seat, “I’d want to help, if it was any of you.” 

Joss hands her phone over to Root, with the contact already on screen, and Root stares at it for a moment and then gets to her feet, “I’ll meet you guys outside.”

Shaw watches her leave, looks around at the table and manages a weak grin, “it’s like we’re a lodestone for trouble.”   


“Maybe because we’re really good at dealing with it,” John observes, taking the chromebook off Harold when he offers it over, “the skillsets we have here... I don’t know many other twenty somethings who took on a government agency and sort of won.” 

Harold snorts, “won... or were allowed to achieve a sort of pyrrhic victory that ended up with us working for said agency, but yes, I see what you’re saying.” 

“I want to join the police so I can help people,” John gets to his feet, “even people who aren’t here anymore, like Hanna. She was just a kid and someone killed her, and that’s not right.” 

Shaw shoulders him in the arm as she gets to her feet, which means, ‘thanks’, and ‘yeah’, and ‘well said’, and other things like that. He’ll be a good cop, she thinks, so she says it, “you’re gonna be a good cop, John.” 

“Thanks,” John looks a bit surprised, which is probably due to the fact that Shaw tries hard to never compliment him. She just nods in response, and the rest of the Team get to their feet and head out to wait for Root, who’s over the road, gesticulating with one hand as she talks to Caleb. 

They grab some roadside kebabs on their way to the theatre, and Rock of Ages is just as fun as anticipated. Shaw doesn’t even mind that Root clearly thinks it’s adorable when she sings along—it’s Queen, anyone who doesn’t sing along is a monster. It’s a good distraction, making her feel much more relaxed and on top of things. 

Caleb will find the source of the money, Root and Harry will like, hack whoever it is and find proof that they broke the law, they can hand it all off to Dani or anonymously to the police, everyone will get arrested and everything will be fine. She nods, determinedly, Root’s hand warm against hers as they shuffle out of the theatre, trying not to lose each other.

The drive up to the Midlands is pleasant—Root keeps the bike with the minivan, pretty much, and Zoe tries to play charades out the back window, which is completely unsuccessful due to the fact Shaw is a bit busy holding on to play back and also they can’t hear each other to confirm or correct guesses. Zoe seems to be having fun regardless though. Shaw thinks most of her movie choices are pornos. Either that or there's more sex in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang than she remembers.

They pull in at their destination around one thirty in the morning, and are all too knackered to want to get up early. They have a full day the next day, the plan is to go hiking, but they decide to set off a bit late so they get a good night’s sleep.    
  
The accommodation is a pretty cute B&B, and the team hauls their bags up to the open plan apartment with good-natured arguing about who gets the actual bed and who is gonna be on the sofa bed and air bed respectively. 

A threeway game of rock paper scissors dissolves into a total farce when Zoe gets beaten by John and leaps into the bed, spreading herself out and declaring herself queen of the mattress.

She doesn’t even mean it as a sex joke, but it’s too funny, and Shaw just about falls off the couch laughing. She also might be a bit stoned, in all fairness, since the first thing Root did after dropping her bag was spark up. Shaw thinks maybe weed is the only thing keeping her stable right now, and hey, they’re on vacation they can do what they want. “Okay so we have mattress queen, homecoming queer and what else? What other amazing nicknames do we have?”

“Uh, I am the literal queen of the universe, remember?” Joss exclaims, flopping onto the couch and pushing Shaw the rest of the way off, where she tumbles into a starfish on the plush rug.

“So it’s just me and the boys that need nicknames? We can get terrible shirts printed like we’re on the worst stag do ever,” Shaw declares kicking her socked feet. 

Root snags one leg in midair and pulls it upward, forcing Shaw into an uncomfortable hamstring stretch, just for her own amusement judging by the look on her face. Shaw wriggles free with a snicker.

“I am perfectly happy without a nickname,” Harold pushes his glasses up his nose, pink in the cheeks, “but if I have to have one then anyone except Zoe can pick it.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with me?” Zoe calls from her splayed out starfish on the bed, still furiously holding onto the headboard even as John tries to tickle her into submission.

“Everything,” John switches tactics, starts tickling her feet instead of her ribs and Zoe screams, kicking out and catching him right in the face.

“Jesus!” John yelps, stumbling backwards, and Shaw is laughing so hard she think she might throw up. Harold flings himself off the armchair to help his damaged boyfriend and Root dangles off the sofa, looking happier than she has in a couple of days. Maybe bringing the Team in was the best possible plan, now they’re doing something, Root seems to be better off. Or, again, it could just be the weed.

“What?” Shaw inquires, through her guffaws, and Root threads her hand under Shaw’s hair, pulls her up into more of a sitting position and presses a kiss against her forehead.

“I just like you,” she states, quiet enough not to be heard over the furor of John complaining about his new black eye.

“I like you too,” Shaw replies, sobering up a bit, and sneak attacking a kiss to Root’s jaw while she’s looking all serious. “Wanna go find a field to fuck me in?” 

Root laughs quietly and rubs her thumb over Shaw’s cheek before letting her sag back to the soft carpet, “I don’t think I have the energy...”

“Jerking off in the bathroom it is,” Shaw announces loudly, and John stops his tirade of complaints about how he definitely gets the bed to make a disgusted face.

“Urgh, put a towel down or something, you animal,” he pouts.

Shaw snorts, rolling to her feet and padding towards the room in question, “dude, I know you’re not overly familiar with vaginas, but I’m not gonna make a huge mess. Relax.” 

“I hate everything,” John pouts, and Harold kisses his purpling cheekbone as Shaw glances over to wink at him. “Except you.” John squeezes Harold’s hand and pushes Zoe off the bed for once and for all. 


	20. The Power of VJJ Compells You

John does get to take the bed, guilt-tripping Zoe successfully by moping around holding his bruised face. Shaw and Root end up on the air bed because Zoe claims she wriggles too much to be allowed to sleep on anything that bouncy, and Joss concurs. 

It’s a lot of people for Shaw, even if it is  _ her  _ people, and she gets up early to go for a run around the neighbourhood, working off some steam and the frustration of sharing space. She’s soaked from the persistent drizzle when she gets back to the apartment, but she has achieved breakfast pastries and coffee for everyone, which she hands off while she jumps in the shower, feeling much less agitated than she did when she woke up.

After eating, they pack day bags and head out. They have two full days here, and because they got a late start, they decide to switch their plans around and go hiking the next day, leaving them with a Tudor Manor House on the to do list. 

It’s extremely beautiful, and they have a good time poking around the tiny rooms, checking out the amazing windows and, in Shaw’s case, soundly beating some teenagers at the Tudor Games they’re demonstrating. Also, lunch is fucking amazing, and Shaw would come back again just to eat some more of their homemade pie and salad. It’s the best salad she’s ever eaten and she’s contemplating ordering a second plate, even though her belly is stretched and full. 

She idly flicks to facebook to tell Cole off for giving her number to strangers, and sees she has a new message from a ‘Jane Smith’, which is about the most suspicious sounding name imaginable. She opens it. 

“Shaw, it’s Kelli from the bar. I know this sounds weird but I need to talk to you. Call 541-754-3010”- sent five days ago.

“Seriously, it’s important.” - four days ago.

“Do you never check your facebook? Root doesn’t even have one? Where are you guys? You might be in trouble.”- three days ago.

“I’m not kidding please call me.”- two days ago.

“Uhhhh,” it only takes Shaw a second to read the messages, and she blinks, taken aback. Why the fuck was Kelli trying to get in touch with them  _ days  _ before she broke in? Maybe she.. Left something really important in their house? But no that doesn’t make sense there’s no way she’d have realised this far on from when she came over. “Root?”

Root takes the phone when Shaw holds it out and rapidly scans the text, “we are seriously in the twilight zone here.”   
  
“What?” John props his elbow on the table, looking concerned, “what happened now?”

“Kelli’s been messaging Shaw, for days, saying she needs to talk to us...” Root explains slowly, “she’s left a phone number.” 

“Why?” Harold puts his knife and fork down carefully, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Doesn’t say, just that we might be in trouble. But, I mean, I guess we’re trying to get hold of her via Romeo and find out what the fuck is going on, maybe I should just call?” Root sounds like she’s very, very open to hearing opinions.

“Could be a ruse to find out where you are,” Joss points out, pouring everyone some more water like they need to be hydrated for this conversation.  

“Or where the paintings are,” Shaw adds, curling her fingers around the water glass and letting the cold seep into her skin.

Root chews her lip, looking thoughtful.

“Well, we could spoof our location pretty easily,” Harold pushes his glasses up his nose, leaning forwards, “that only didn’t work last time because we were up against the literal government, what are the chances these criminals have better hackers than us available?” 

“True,” Root nods, thoughtful.

“What do we know?” Joss waves Zoe back to the table who raises her eyebrows at what presumably is a pretty shifty looking set of faces.

Root ticks the information they have off on her fingers, “okay, Hanna at some point over the last four years made copies of SN,” Shaw realises Root is trying to avoid direct mention of the paintings, maybe since they’re in a somewhat busy location, “for some reason, instead of handing them off as I assume she was supposed to, she got into trouble, those copies are now in my house and somehow somebody seems to know about them and wants them back? Oh, and Kelli who tried to get in has been trying to get hold of us for a few days...” Zoe’s mouth opens to ask a question and Shaw hands her the phone with the facebook messages open before she can get the words out. Zoe subsides, reading.

“So you’re gonna call her?” She inquires after putting the phone down on the table again, steepling her fingers. “We have a lot of questions and zero answers, and potentially a really good lead in the form of Kelli, who we could completely hand over to the police since we have a picture of her exiting your apartment balcony in a very thief-chic outfit.” 

“You’re right, we do have that, but she presumably has criminal connections to someone who wasn’t afraid to kill to get what they wanted,” Joss says quietly, very serious.

“But she was reaching out for a reason,” Zoe counters, “maybe she’s in love with Root and Shaw and is caught between a rock and a hard place.”

Shaw scoffs, rolling her eyes, “or maybe she’s been told to weasel out of us where the paintings are.”

“But how could Mr Evil Plans possibly have known that she banged you?” Zoe says thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one long finger. “You picked up Kelli in a bar,  _ months  _ ago, with zero ulterior motive other than bangs. Like, she gets sent to Root’s apartment, which is presumably not under the name ‘Root’, looking for paintings, but unless she scoped it out and  _ realised  _ it was your house...You think Mr Evil Plans researched your history and found some girl you fucked one time and somehow persuaded her to break into your house just because she’d been there before? No way, that makes no sense. It’s gotta be a coincidence. The only thing that makes sense is that Kelli figured out she knew you, not Mr Evil Plans, or Mr EP as he shall now be known cause Evil Plans is getting cumbersome, and tried to warn you cause the power of your vjjs compelled her or something.” 

Shaw is totally lost by Zoe’s logic and huffs out air, raising an eyebrow. Root, on the other hand, is typing manically on Harry’s chromebook and she nods. “I think Zoe’s right. I don’t think it’d be possible or necessary to get someone we’d slept with to break in, it’s not like we have alarm codes we gave her or something, so probably Mr EP,” she twitches her mouth in repressed humour, “whoever he is, just hired her to break in not knowing we knew her at all, and then she figured it out.” 

“Why her, then?” Shaw frowns, it all seems very unlikely to her, “if she’s a shitty thief who got caught by a five year old...” 

“I guess we should ask,” Joss twists her mouth in thought, “call her right before we go to Scotland, that way even if it is a trick and they manage to GPS us they won’t know where we are.”

“Alright then,” Root puts the chromebook lid down, licks her lips, “so we have a plan. We’ll call her on Thursday before we drive up to Scotland. Caleb hasn’t gotten back to us so presumably he’s had no luck chasing the money yet, but we have a line on Kelli and maybe she knows what the fuck is going on, and who’s behind all this.”

Nodding, the Team get to their feet and pack up their stuff, heading back into the sunshine draped grounds of the Tudor house. It’s surreal, Shaw thinks, to be padding across neatly manicured blades of grass and looking at a house that has existed longer than her  _ country _ in it’s current form, while at the same time chewing over a mystery that robbed Root of her best friend.

But Root keeps brushing her hand against Shaw’s sleeve, and the sweet smell of summer is in the air, and Shaw can’t bring herself to be too worried about what’s to come. They can handle it. They can handle anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone cares enough to look they are at [Little Moreton Hall](https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/little-moreton-hall) which is A+ and has AMAZING PIE AND SALAD. 10/10 would eat again. I mean, recommend.


	21. Hanecdotes

They do a pretty good job of not getting bogged down in the drama of things. Root is finding it easier to keep her emotions in check now that the Team are on board and have her back, are working the problem through with her. She feels like they’re going to find out what really happened, and weirdly, some raw place inside her is feeling better, less tender. 

It’s so strange to think that she’s spent the past two years believing Hanna’s death was a random, vicious accident, that if only she’d been there things would have been different. And maybe they still would have been, if she’d gone with Hanna instead of staying at the club, but Hanna was caught up in something far bigger than Root could ever have imagined, and maybe they’d both be dead if she’d been there. Either way, thinking about Hanna doesn’t make her ribcage squeeze her organs quite as much as it did. 

She finds herself telling Shaw some stories about Hanna, and by association about Root’s own childhood, and Shaw listens and grunts in the appropriate places and curls her fingers tight around Root’s wrist when Root occasionally finds her thoughts getting darker, heavier. It feels like it might be cathartic, telling Shaw about the time Hanna stole the headmaster’s car and persuaded the football team to help her spike it on the school flagpole, while Root scrubbed the surveillance camera that monitored the carpark. She realises she’s never talked to anyone about Hanna, if you don’t count the time she ended up throwing up on Daizo’s lap on the anniversary of Hanna’s death, last November.

Walking over slippery rocks, her face cold with mountain mist, she tells Shaw about the first time she and Hanna went to a kink party together, how nervous they both were and how Root almost chickened out, only for Hanna to grab her wrist and drag her in, leading everyone to think Root was subbing, and how they didn’t know how to act so Root ended up with tops trying to pick her up all night, which Hanna thought was  _ hilarious.  _ Shaw laughs, possibly at the mere idea of Root subbing, and Root feels her heart get a little lighter in her chest. 

“How did you meet her?” Shaw inquires, chivalrously holding out her hand to help Root over an especially tricky section. The rest of the team is barely visible through the silvery fog draping the mountainside, having gone on at a faster pace while Root and Shaw dawdled, talking things over. 

Root tugs her steel gray rain jacket sleeves down, cold water trickling from the waterproof fabric over her fingers. “We were neighbours. I didn’t like her when we were little. She was so ... loud, so bright. Like everything was turned up to eleven.” She pauses for a minute, slithering past some wet branches from an over-hanging tree. Her legs are beginning to feel the strain of the uphill, and she pauses to catch her breath. 

Shaw just looks out at the barely visible view, her red beanie framing her face under her black hood. 

“She’d yell, and scream and run around and just do everything... more than the average person. I was quiet, you know, awkward. Too clever and too sharp-edged for my own good. And poor. I didn’t have any friends. When I was in grade seven there were some kids picking on me after school, they took my bag and threw it in a tree. I always fought back, but there were four of them and I was pretty small, so I never won. Hanna heard them yelling and came and scared them off.” Root pauses for breath, smiling at the memory of Hanna, fists clenched and brows furrowed, an expression of sheer fury marring her delicate features. “She was a tough cookie, even at twelve. I’d twisted my ankle trying to get away, and she climbed up the tree to get my bag and then she helped me walk home. The next day, she came to get me in the morning, and walked me home after school. She’d talk, all the time, just about anything. She thought about everything all of the time and she was smart, you know, but not in a school way. So I started helping her with school stuff, and she made sure no one flushed my head down the toilet anymore, and we were friends, I guess.” Root starts walking again, needing movement to do this conversation. Her hands are in wet little fists just inside her jacket, but when Shaw tugs on her sleeve she uncurls one hand obediently and lets Shaw tangle their fingers. 

“She sounds pretty cool,” Shaw is clearly content to leave the conversation there if Root wants, and that helps enough that Root breathes in deeply and finds some more words balled up in her chest.

“She was. Much cooler than me. Of course, I grew out of my awkward stage,” Root manages a lopsided smile and Shaw squeezes her fingers. “I kissed her when we were fourteen. I’d never kissed anyone before, and if I’m honest I think I’d been carefully avoiding thinking about who I might like to kiss... small town Texas, you know. But we’d been swimming in the lake and it was hot, we were laying out on the rocks, and she looked at me and bit her lip and I couldn’t stop myself. I thought for sure she’d freak out, shove me away, tell everyone.” Root exhales, remembering the heat of the sun baking down, the coolness of the rock underneath her mostly naked body, and the warm closeness of Hanna’s leg pressed against hers. “But she didn’t. She kissed me back, and then said ‘about time’ and dived back in the lake.” Root snorts quietly.

“Got you wet and then got herself wet?” Shaw jokes, stroking the damp back of Root’s hand with her thumb.

“Yeah, pretty much. It didn’t take long after that before we were hooking up all the time, though we started out slow. Neither of our families really gave a shit about us so it was easy to sneak out, find time to be together.”

“Roll around in the hay?” Shaw glances up to look at Root’s face, the edge of a smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. 

Root is hit by a wave of warm affection and squeezes Shaw’s hand gently. “Hay, grass, picnic blankets. Whatever we could find...”

They walk in silence for a few minutes, Root lost in thought about those early days of experimentation, figuring herself out. Her train of thought is broken by Shaw’s next question.

“So, how did you work out you were kinky?” Shaw ducks under a leafy branch and holds it out of the way for Root.

Root thinks for a minute before she replies, “I never really liked being touched, much. Especially not being teased. You know me, more about the destination than the journey. I’ve always been that way, even by myself. So, we were fucking a lot by the time we were about sixteen, and we’d figured out the logistics, as it were. And Hanna was... pushy, I  guess? She’d fight me, but not really; she’d push me just to make me stop her, and eventually all our sex was rough, biting and scratching and holding her down. Fighting to see who’d top, but she always let me win. She understood, but she liked the fight more than I did. I don’t like feeling out of control, not even with someone I trust.” Root flicks her eyes to Shaw to see how this is going down, but Shaw’s face is placid, untouched by anything negative. Bolstered, Root continues. “We graduated to tying her up when we were seventeen or so, that was better for me. And then my mom died, and things got hard. I was working a lot and trying to make sure we had a way out of town. Hanna met someone else and it turned out I didn’t really care that much, as long as it wasn’t interfering with what we had. But then the guy decided he didn’t like how close we were, and I guess he got suspicious,” Root grins, “there’s only so many times you can explain away being sprinkled with bitemarks. So we stopped sleeping together and went back to being friends.” Root shrugs, “I loved her, you know, but not in any specific capacity. I was just as happy being friends as I was when we were fucking. Hornier, maybe, but it was fine. It was good to have someone to be with, explore with, but we were never that compatible, really. And by that point I knew my way around the fetish scene and I made some other connections. Took some classes, became the roguish and efficient dom you know today.” Root tries for a lighter tone, hearing the pain in her own voice.

“Roguish and efficient? Sure, that’s definitely how I describe you to my friends,” Shaw deadpans, bumping her shoulder into Root’s. “Did I ever tell you how I got into the scene?” 

“Nope,” Root bumps her back, happily accepting the topic change, feeling a little too much to delve any further into her past right now. 

“Well, I was clubbing with Zoe and Joss, just like, normal clubbing, and I met this woman. Super hot, majorly goth, like slicked back hair and purple lipstick, spikes everywhere. I dunno what she saw in me, but man, she was out for me specifically. She was all leathered up, and she pushed me around a little bit when we were dancing, grabbed my wrists and stuff. She bit my neck, and I was so fucking gone, honestly, I was a mess and she could tell. She took me into the corridor, had me up against the wall with her body and she slides her hand around my throat and I swear I just about come in my pants. And then she’s like ‘come back to mine and I’ll choke you out properly, pet,’, no one had ever called me anything like that before, not the way she did, and shit, I was so weak for it. I went home with her and it wasn’t even that kinky, just a bit of choking and she told me what to do, and I was just falling apart. So, then I figured apparently I was super into being pushed around, right? It was a whole new kind of sex for me, like I finally  _ got  _ it. Not just scratching an itch but really feeling something? It took me a while, I was on fetlife for like six months before actually doing anything about it, and then I started subbing for Mz Razr, who I told you a bit about.” 

Shaw’s story has given Root enough time to gather herself, and she grins, “ah yes, my nemesis,” she hisses in a mock evil voice, kicking a stone off the path to rattle down the mountain side. 

Shaw snorts, “well since I am wholly  _ not _ a damsel in distress that is clearly inaccurate.”

Root hums, tugging Shaw to walk a little faster, spying the team in the distance at the top of the slope, “I don’t know, baby, I’ve seen you in some pretty epic distress,” she drawls deliberately, rewarded by Shaw’s quick intake of breath at her meaningful tone.

“Distress you put me in doesn’t count”, Shaw declares, eagerly picking up the pace. She’s been holding back for Root, and is probably chomping at the bit to get some real leg work in. Root frees her hand and gives Shaw a little push.

“G’wan, off you go, I’ll meet you up there in a minute.” 

“Yeah?” Shaw shifts on her foot, and Root nods. Shaw takes off like a shot, slip-sliding over the uneven rocks at a dangerous pace, sprinting up the last hundred meters of mountain with a whoop of pleasure.

Root ambles after her, taking the bit of quiet time to finish getting her head back on straight. By the time she makes it to the peak, the Team have broken out the waterproof blanket and the sandwiches, with umbrellas propped over them in a circle. 

They eat in companionable silence, admiring the rolling hills with mist drifting over them. Shaw is fiddling with her penknife and a piece of slate, having eaten her sandwiches in record time. They stay on the mountainside for about half an hour, before they all agree they’re cold enough they need to warm back up. Shaw tugs Root’s hand to get her to stay for a minute, and then shows her the rock she’d been messing with.

It says ‘Hanna Frey’ on it, scratched in in bold capitals. Once she’s sure Root’s read it, Shaw carefully props the slate in a little crevasse, next to a bunch of other slates Root hadn’t even noticed. They all have something written on them, names and dates and initials, usually. Root’s eyes sting, and she reaches out, rubs her thumb over the sharp edge of the slate and then nods at Shaw, taking her offered hand and heading down the mountain after the team. 

Sorrow is thick in her throat, heavy in her chest on the way down, but by the time they’ve made it to the bottom it’s melted away, leaving something warmer behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my sweet friends. It's is November 7th today, and I am knee-deep in Nanowrimo, so for the duration of November I'm only going to be updating on Mondays, I need the pressure off for fic so I can finish my damn novel. Although then I will have written FOUR NOVELS so that will be fun.   
> <3


	22. When Your Bones Itch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this in the fairly forlorn hope that if I can distract any of you for just a few minutes that's worth something. Sorry it's not fluffier. 
> 
> I'm devastated, and I'm sure you are too. Please take care of yourselves. My ask is always open if you need someone. @constantlyhalfcocked

They pack in the evening and spend the rainy night with takeout and Edge of Tomorrow. The first time Emily Blunt arches up off the ground Zoe whimpers, the second time she falls off the couch and the third time she declares she’s pregnant and makes Joss promise to raise the baby with her. 

Shaw is in a pretty good mood, having gotten in some physical exercise, and feeling like the earlier talks she had with Root have lightened the load on her partner a bit, Root’s speaking more freely, sitting less uncomfortably. She’s wearing Shaw’s masculine cut tanktop again, though, and Shaw makes a mental note to buy her a six pack of them. There are days when it’s the only shirt Root will be comfortable in—which is fine with Shaw, but does seem ridiculous to only own one if it’s gonna be Root’s favourite shirt. 

They retire to their respective beds after finalising the loose plan for calling Kelli in the morning. Shaw jerks off in the bathroom again, without asking Root if she wants to fuck. She doesn’t want Root to feel obliged, or anything, and there’s not much heat between them right now, more of a softer thing. But Root dips her hand down into Shaw’s shorts when she crawls into bed, still breathing slightly raggedly, and hums happily into the side of Shaw’s neck. They fall asleep like that, Root pressed up behind Shaw, with her fingers resting against Shaw’s pussy, both of them in the center of the airbed.

Of course, that means Shaw wakes up worked up, mid-sex dream starring Keith Urban and Alice from Resident Evil, for some reason. Joss is already up and pottering around in the small kitchen, and someone’s in the shower, so Shaw can’t jerk off even though she’s super on edge. 

The horniness has translated into a simmering irritation by the time Root stirs, only minutes later, twitching her fingers as she wakes up. Shaw has to squeeze her eyes really tightly shut so she doesn’t snap at her, and she squirms away from Root’s body, out of bed, stomping over to the backpack and digging out some clothes, changing right there in the living room. 

“Morning,” Joss holds up mugs, and Shaw grunts a negative, grabbing her wallet and heading right for the door without saying anything. 

By the time she’s run some of the agitation out of her blood, the Team is all dressed and packed, Shaw’s own backpack stuffed to the brim again, with a change of clothes waiting on top of it. Root winks at her as she grabs the clean items and heads into the bathroom to wash the sweat off. 

She’s still a little twitchy, on edge, when she emerges, and she deliberately separates herself from the group who are gathered around the table, eating bagels and chatting. They know her well enough to leave her alone, and when Root gets up from the table, absently rubbing her back, Shaw realises that she’s probably PMSing—usually when Root starts cramping, Shaw starts getting extra irritable and yeah, she’s feeling a little twingey. 

After taking an ibuprofen she waves the bottle at Root who rolls her eyes like ‘yeah, how stupid of me,’ and accepts a gelcap, brushing her thumb over the back of Shaw’s hand. 

Swallowing the urge to pull away, Shaw takes a deep breath and wanders back over to the window seat, leaning against a pillow and resting her head against the cold glass. She sits for a while, ignoring the bustle and movement of the team eating and getting ready to leave. 

When Root pads over, carefully stopping a few paces away from Shaw, and holds something shiny out to her, Shaw doesn’t immediately realise what it is. 

Keys. 

“Figured maybe I’d ride in the Love Bus for a bit,” Root explains, her tone even, but warm.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Shaw stretches, uncurling and reaching out for the keys.

“Eh, you’re good on a bike, if you’re happy on the wrong side of the road I’m sure you’ll be okay.” 

Shaw does have her motorbike licence, and she can drive in the U.K on it, but she’s not old enough for the motorbike rental agreement. But the idea of taking the bike and being by herself for a while, riding out some of the irritation that keeps swamping her is good, so she nods, the keys cold in her hands. 

Root gives her a soft little smile, “I’m gonna call Kelli, if you want to listen in?” And Shaw grunts agreement, getting to her feet and tucking the keys in her jeans pocket. 

***  
Root tries to keep the affectionate smile off her face as she pads back over to the table. Harry has already set the phone up attached to his big laptop, the program that’s spoofing their location scrolling rhythmically on the screen. He gives her a nod, and she sits down next to him. 

Shaw turns a chair around, straddling the back of it and leaning her hands on the wooden bar, back from where everyone else is sat close to the table. Her movements are all tense and jerky, and Root can see it’s time for Shaw to have some space. She hopes the ride up to Scotland is enough. When they arrive at least Root and Shaw will have their own room, so Root can go chill with the others and let Shaw have some wriggle room, if that’s what she needs. Hell, she could probably crash in with Zoe and Joss if it’s really bad. 

That decided, she finds Kelli’s number on the phone and hits dial, then speaker. Everyone shifts expectantly, facial expressions ranging from concerned—John and Joss—to intrigued—Zoe and Harry—to the blank indifference visible on Shaw’s face. 

It rings four times before it connects, and Kelli’s voice, vaguely familiar, comes through. “Hello?”

“Hi, Kelli. It’s Root. I heard you were trying to get hold of me,” Root drawls deliberately, fiddling with a ballpoint pen between her fingers, ready to take notes.

“That’s funny, I heard the same about you,” Kelli’s voice fades, then comes back sharply, and there’s the sound of a door closing. “Thanks for that, by the way, I had to do some fast talking to explain that.”

“Wanna tell us what’s going on?” Root doodles in the corner of the paper.

There’s a sigh, and a thud before more words come through, “I don’t know how you got mixed up with Jay, but you need to just give him the paintings and hope he takes that as enough. Believe me, I should know.”

“Should you?” Root writes down ‘Jay’ on the piece of paper with a ? next to it.

“Yes. Look, I’m risking a lot here, okay. You have no idea what kind of a guy he is.”

“He has something on you?” Root guesses, because it makes sense. 

There’s a moment of silence, “that doesn’t matter. Just.. he’ll kill you if he doesn’t get what he wants, and I don’t need that on my conscience, okay. Please, just... I could have taken the paintings, but then you’d probably be on a kill list. If you give them over yourself, you can negotiate. He might let it go.” 

“You think?” Root asks, hearing the wry tone strumming through the words, and Kelli sighs.

“I hope. When I figured out it was your place he was looking at, I tried to get hold of you to warn you. I told him the paintings weren’t there, and I can set a meet up, you could still get out of this okay.” 

“Or, you could tell me what you know about him, what he has on you, and take the chance we’re better equipped to deal with this than you think...” Root pushes, testing the waters.

“I can’t.” It’s heavy and resigned, and Root frowns. There’s fear in her voice, but something else as well, something that implies Kelli has been down a bunch of paths that all ended up with her losing before. 

Taking a gamble, Root lets her feelings show in her voice, lets the pain come through. “He killed my friend, Kelli. Give me something.” Her voice cracks on the last word and Shaw’s eyebrows pull in, she shifts in her seat like she wants to get up. Root can’t tell if it’s to come and touch her or to leave the space entirely. 

Kelli exhales sharply, her voice sounding strained, “I can’t. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand, Kelli,” Root has one more emotional play, and she slides control into her voice, wields dominance like a weapon in her tone. Shaw puffs air out of her nose and pushes away from her seat, stands, tension in her shoulders. Zoe knocks her foot against Root’s under the table. 

“It’s too dangerous, Root. I can’t. I’m sorry. If he even finds out we’ve spoken...” there’s a shudder in Kelli’s voice. “Let me set up a meeting, please, give him the paintings back and reassure him that nothing’s going to come of this.” It’s pleading, desperate and Root’s washed with rage, thick and white pulsing through her veins.

“If I do that, Kelli, it’ll be to break the bastard’s neck, not give him anything he wants.” Her voice is laced with knives she can’t control, and the dialtone bounces into her ears. She slams the end call button angrily, gritting her teeth. “Fuck.” She sighs, rubbing her forehead.


	23. Don't Let The Law Get in the Way of Truth and Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna post daily until I run out of chapters, because I'm burying myself in fic (my happy place) so you all may as well get to as well. A moment of lightness is worth something in times like these. Chin up, friends.

‘Fuck’ does seem to summarise it quite nicely, Shaw thinks, as the Team start talking all at once, dissecting the phone call. Root has her head in her hands, looking like she thinks she fucked it up, and Shaw doesn’t really know what to do or say so she slopes into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Maybe tea will help. Her throat hurts, anyway, and she could use a hot drink. 

After a minute, Joss extricates herself from the table and joins Shaw in setting out mugs. She gives Shaw a lot of physical space, and Shaw relaxes a little. She has good friends. They hand tea around to everyone, and Zoe props her feet on Joss’ lap as soon as they’re sat back down.

“So what now?” Zoe inquires, blowing on her tea.

“I... don’t know,” Root shrugs, looking a little helpless. “Wait and see if Caleb turns anything up?”

“Kelli sounded really upset,” John looks and sounds distressed to Shaw. “She could be in danger!” 

“We could be in danger,” Joss adds, “are you sure about not going to Control, or the police?”

“No,” Root says slowly, “but if we go to the police and give them the paintings, then what? This guy doesn’t sound like that would put him off much, plus I can’t imagine the law is going to take too kindly to me having had six million dollars worth of forged art under my bed for almost two years...it’d be a shit show trying to explain that. Plus... I mean, while it might give them motive for Hanna’s murder, I doubt there’s any actual evidence that could get a conviction, they didn’t find any DNA or anything at the scene except mine. And we could be putting Kelli in danger if they think she had anything to do with us handing the art off.” 

“I think Control would be more likely to just take the paintings and put you guys under house arrest if you talked to her,” Shaw curls her fingers around her hot mug of tea, enjoying the tingle-pain of heat. “She doesn’t seem like she’d give a fuck about Hanna, it’s totally irrelevant to her interest in you and Harry. She just wants your brains to fix her problems, not to like, bring people to justice.” 

“Well... what do we want?” Joss asks with a practical tone in her voice, grabbing Root’s pen and paper. “We want to get someone to pay for killing Hanna, find out once and for all what really happened to her, and we also want to not get killed or arrested ourselves.”

“And to help Kelli,” John adds, and Root nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I don’t know how she got mixed up in this, but she tried to help us out, so we should be careful, keep her out of it.”

“It sounds like Kelli is right under this guy, Jay’s thumb, and doesn't like it, right? God that's easier to say than Mr EP.” Zoe chimes in, “anyway, if he  _ didn’t  _ have something on her I bet she’d be willing to skip town. Start again somewhere else.”

“We could certainly help her with that,” Harold pushes his glasses up his nose, nodding.

“I can get her a clean identity, if she needs one,” Root adds, and Shaw snorts quietly, while Joss raises a sharp eyebrow.

“You’re gonna have to stop telling me stuff like that when I’m a cop, you know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear.

Root just grins and waggles her eyebrows, “Captain Carter, I refuse to believe that you’d let the law get in the way of truth and justice,” and Shaw can’t help but smirk.

“For the love of God, at least let me retain plausible deniability,” she mumbles, putting her head in her hand, and Root snickers. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t hear anything except for some speculation until you realise that the law is flawed and mutable.”

“Stop picking on JC,” Zoe thwaps Root in the arm, “she’s too good and pure for the likes of you. Don’t worry Joss, I’ll protect you from the criminal masterminds.”

Root laughs and finishes her tea, fiddling with the empty cup, “Joss’ moral stance aside, does anyone have any ideas, or is the best we have to wait for Caleb to come through with the money stuff?”

John twists his mouth to the side, “this is probably a stupid question, but what about how Jay, whoever he is, found Hanna in the first place? Like, why was he in small town Texas looking at a teenager’s art? Is this a thing he does a lot: is there a whole gang of Hannas working for him? Are there other scholarships?”

“That is... a very good question, John,” Harold starts typing rapidly, clearly looking into John’s suggestion, but when Shaw glances at Root there’s an expression of dawning realisation on her face.

“The Young Artist’s award!” She slaps her hand down lightly on the table, “Harry, google the Young Artist’s award for two thousand nine.”

Harry clearly does so, and turns the chromebook around so the others can just about see the screen. A news article, with a picture of a laughing teenage girl with her head thrown back in front of a beautiful landscape in what looks like oil to Shaw. 

“What if...” Root starts slowly, “what if that’s where it started. Hanna entered the Young Artist’s award after someone told her about it on deviantart. We'd never even heard of it, and neither had her art teacher. What if it’s a set up?”

Harold turns the computer around again and starts typing, and Shaw sees Root’s fingers twitch so she gets up and grabs Root’s laptop for her, plopping it down on the table in front of her without a word. Root gives her a pleased little smile and Shaw feels smug as she sits back down. 

Root and Harry are lost to their researching, and John washes the breakfast stuff up while Joss and Shaw pack the car and Zoe tidies up and then makes sure they have snacks and drinks for the road. 

Shaw’s feeling useless and a bit fraught again by the time she remembers the keys in her pocket and grabs her leathers out of the Love Bus, sliding them on over her clothes on the side of the road. 

“I’ll see you when you get there, alright?” She mutters to Zoe, and Joss snags her sleeve before she can step off the sidewalk.

“House codes!” She announces, ducking into the front of the minivan and rustling before saying “aha,” and reemerging, passing Shaw a print out. “Catch you later, Shaw, drive safe.”

“Later, Shaw,” Zoe echoes, and Shaw nods, tucking the print out safely in her pocket before checking the address on gmaps and memorising the main instructions. She’ll have to stop and look at a map properly when she gets to Edinburgh, but this will do to get her on the motorway.

“Later,” Shaw strides down the road towards the bike, feeling better already at the mere idea of occupying her whole body with driving, and the peace of the road. 


	24. I Didn't Know Shaw Was Into Watersports

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no actual watersports, just jokes.

Root sits in the back of the Love Bus with Harry trawling through documents they’ve managed to locate before losing internet access. Zoe complains that even looking at them makes her feel sick so she takes the front seat, navigating while Joss drives, and John takes the entire triple seat in the back row and has a five hour snooze. 

They don’t see Shaw on the bike, although Root wasn’t really looking, she’s sure Zoe would have said something if she’d spotted her, but when they pull up to their airbnb apartment, the bike is already parked out front. Not that Root was worried. Shaw is an excellent driver with better reflexes and natural reactions than Root, if slightly less practised.

Shaw’s nowhere to be found when they traipse up the stairs to the two bedroom apartment they’ll be sharing for the next five days.

It’s pretty small, but the ability to shut doors between rooms is going to make a huge difference for Shaw, Root thinks as she heads for the bathroom to pee. The door’s locked, and Shaw yells, “I’m in the bath,” before Root can ask how long she’s gonna be.

“Well, I have to pee and probably so does everyone else...” Root complains, leaning her hand on the door jamb. 

After a moment, the lock clicks open, and Root dives in, unbuttoning her pants and waving at Shaw who’s sat up in the bath with her hands on her knees. She’s flush from the heat of the water and shiny, it’s a good look and Root admires her shamelessly.

“Good drive?” she inquires, while relieving herself. 

“Yeah, it was nice. I looped around the city, did me a little tour. Sorry I didn’t say bye, I was too itchy. Also, can you find out if anyone needs to take a dump or if I can just stay in here? I’m cozy.”

Root laughs, buttoning her pants and flushing the toilet, “sure, but I bet John isn’t gonna be happy.” She doesn’t give a fuck if Shaw says bye to her or not, and she’s noticed on multiple occasions Shaw only does when she thinks she is supposed to, it’s not something that she naturally thinks about.    
  
In response, Shaw just swooshes the shower curtain closed so she’s shielded from view.

Snickering, Root heads back into the living area, announcing, “Shaw says you’re welcome to pee while she’s in the bath but if you need to do anything more serious let her know so she can get out,” before flopping down on the sofa and sprawling her legs over Zoe.

Joss rolls her eyes, yawning as she heads for the bathroom, “wouldn’t be the first time I’ve peed in front of Shaw.”

“Once I peed  _ on  _ Shaw a little bit,” Zoe giggles, tugging on Root’s socks.

Startled, Root blinks at her and then cracks up, “of course you did. I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“She was tickling me!” Zoe defends herself, starting to rub Root’s foot in a very pleasing manner, digging her thumbs into the tender arch. Root sighs in pleasure and closes her eyes, she will definitely take a footrub if there’s one going.

“Whatever waxes your orangutan, Zo. I’m hardly one to judge. Although I didn’t think Shaw was into watersports.” 

“I’m not,” Shaw grumbles, emerging from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel. In answer to Root’s raised eyebrow she lifts a shoulder, “I decided I probably could live without hearing John peeing. He does it to the tune of ‘I wear my Grandad’s clothes, I look incredibaaall,” she does not sing it very nicely or in tune. 

“Well I could live without you listening,”John grouches, waiting till Joss also comes out of the bathroom before going in. 

“Technically you could use your penis to pee anywhere,” Shaw calls after him, “really only vagina owners should get toilet privileges,” she snickers.

Harry sighs in a put upon way, carrying his bag towards the bedroom nearest the door, “just because we’re out-numbered.” 

“No, because you can pee your name in the snow and we have to lose a pint of blood from the womb every month regardless of if we want babies or not,” Zoe joins in on Shaw’s side of the toilet debate and Root declines to comment due to the current joy of having her feet rubbed. 

Shaw flops down on an armchair near them, scooping a magazine off the table and flicking through it idly, her towel slipping. Foot rubs  _ and  _ a peep show... Root’s pretty happy right now. 

“Yes, well, if me peeing in the garden would stop you from menstruating, I would happily bear that burden,” Harold snarks, emerging from the bedroom again, “but since it won’t, I think I’ll continue to use the bathroom like a civilised human.” 

“Sometimes listening to you guys go at it makes me feel my remaining dregs of sanity slipping away,” Joss takes a seat on the futon against the wall, and leans back, “nice digs though.”

“Sometimes listening to Root and Shaw go at it makes me feel the remaining dregs of my heterosexuality slipping away,” Zoe holds her hand out for a high five, which Shaw gives without looking, to a dramatic eyeroll from Joss.

“You guys are slap happy from being in a car for too long,” she says, ignoring the fact that Shaw was on a bike the whole time, “and it’s almost dinner time. We should go out.” 

“Sounds good, who has the restaurant list for Edinburgh,” Root asks, without moving.

“You did, loser,” Shaw grunts, “and then you dropped your phone in a glass of water.”

“Oh yeah,” Root wrinkles her nose, “I should get a new phone. It’s just that everyone I talk to is here, so it seems like a lot of effort for not much joy.”

“Well it would stop you stealing mine all the time,” Shaw grouses without any real heat behind it.

Root snickers, and rolls to her feet to grab her chromebook and get online, doing a quick browse for restaurants in the area. They decide to go traditional for their first night, and check out a pub that specialises in haggis a few blocks over.

Root is pleased to see Shaw is looking more relaxed over dinner, but that doesn’t stop her from cornering Zoe and asking her to keep everyone out of the house for the next couple of hours. 

Zoe agrees with a smirk, and Root hooks Shaw’s belt on the way out of the pub onto the Royal Mile, holding her back for a second. “Hey, everyone else is gonna go for a walk and then find a bar. I figured you might wanna go home instead, either by yourself or I could come too, try to beat the squirm out of you?”

Shaw snorts, shifting. “That obvious, huh?” 

“You’re not exactly famed for your subtlety,” Root teases, glad at the lack of immediate refusal. She’s feeling good, a little buzzed and very relaxed. She wants to take the chance to chew on Shaw before they go to bed.

“There’s a time for a scalpel and a time for a hammer,” Shaw starts walking down the street back towards their apartment, and Root misses a beat before Shaw jerks her head in a silent ‘come on’.

“Is it hammer time?” She inquires, catching up, and Shaw grins at her from under her eyelashes.

  
“Depends on what you’re planning to do with the hammer, I suppose.”


	25. Is That A Cheese Platter or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all smut, spanking, paddling, improv sadism with clothes pegs, collars, feeldoes, dick riding.

Shaw can feel herself tingling in anticipation as they head up the stairs toward the apartment. The emotional issues of the past few weeks coupled with the close quarters have definitely built up on her, and she’s been trying to avoid accidentally pushing Root—since Root usually takes the lead in when, if, and how they’re going to have sex—but taking care of someone else’s feelings before her own doesn’t come naturally and it’s left her itchy and agitated. She hopes Root feels like hurting her, that she wasn’t using ‘beat the squirm out’ as a metaphor. 

Shaw could use a proper going over, a physical reset. A reminder of her-and-Root to keep her in check.

Root smooths her hand down Shaw’s shoulder possessively as she unlocks the door, and Shaw leans into it, wanting Root to be firmer. As though she’s read Shaw’s mind, or body, Root curls her fingers around Shaw’s bicep and squeezes, not quite hard enough to leave bruises unless she holds it for a while, but firm enough for Shaw to feel it all the way down to her toes. 

She exhales, nodding, and Root yanks on her arm, turns her to face Root as they push through the door. Root slams the door shut and  then slams Shaw against it just a split second later. Shaw groans the buzz of pain out and flattens herself against the door, her whole body flushing with heat. “Fuck, yeah, Root,” she moans as Root leans down and fastens her teeth on the thick muscle of Shaw’s trapezius, digging in violently with a flash of pain that skitters down Shaw’s spine, making her hips curl forwards involuntarily. 

Root sucks on the muscle, no doubt leaving a mark in her wake as she forcefully untucks Shaw’s shirt with both hands, smoothing her fingers lightly over the newly exposed skin and then digging into the curves of Shaw’s hips, pulling them closer together. 

Shaw makes a garbled little noise, flexing her hands against the cold wood of the door and Root licks her way up her throat, sucking on her earlobe before releasing her to murmur, “pee, bedroom, strip,” and letting her go. Root strides confidently over to the small kitchen, shrugging her jacket off and draping it on the counter before Shaw’s gathered herself enough to move.

It only takes her a second to obey Root’s small list of commands, and she dithers for a moment, naked in the bedroom, before deciding to kneel at the end of the bed on the floor. She hopes Root understands that means ‘hurt me’, and ‘dominate me’, 'make me feel you'.

She puts her hands behind her back, and inhales sharply as she feels more than hears Root enter the room. The slap of something hard, maybe wooden, hitting Root’s hand is loud enough to make her flinch. Did Root bring a paddle all the way from the States? It seems unlikely, and even if she  _ did,  _ why would it have been in the kitchen? She doesn’t have to wait long to find out, Root shuts the door and pads across the room, setting down a rather nice wooden cheese-plate with a carry-handle onto the sheets. Shaw blinks, gulps, melts.    
  
The grin in Root’s voice is clear. “Amazing what people keep lying around the house that you can improvise with.” She opens her left hand, showing Shaw two wooden clothes pegs, which she proceeds to drop onto the bed as well. “Shame we can’t make a zip strip without a drill, but I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised anyway.”

Shaw feels her face soften as her stomach flips over in aroused excitement, feeling heavier and more sunk into her own body already. Root nods, pleased, and steps forwards, cupping Shaw’s jaw with her hand and tilting her face up so she can look at her. 

Root hums happily before slapping her across the face with enough force that it turns Shaw’s face and leaves her cheek stinging and pink-feeling. She exhales past the sudden pain, braced for another, but instead Root smooths her thumb over Shaw’s parted lips and then pats the bed with her other hand.

“Elbows, head down, let me know if you get lightheaded.” There’s a familiar note of dark excitement in Root’s voice and Shaw shivers as she stands up and obeys the command, overly aware of the pegs shifting and sliding on the blankets as her body weight moves the mattress. 

Root moves away, and Shaw catches herself leaning toward the side Root was on just moments ago, like the air there was warmer or softer or something. She straightens up, pressing her forehead into the blankets and waiting for the shifts in air that will announce Root’s return.

The gentle touch on her back makes her shiver, resisting the urge to move, push in or pull away she’s not sure. Careful hands move her hair, and then the familiar slide of leather brushes over her throat. It doesn’t feel like the soft, flexible brown collar they usually use; this is stiff, thicker, it catches on Shaw’s adam’s apple when she swallows past it. 

Root buckles it, tugging gently, making Shaw’s breathing hitch and catch as new warmth flushes her, skin tingling and over sensitive as she waits for whatever comes next. 

The hand on her lower back is firm, resting and holding simultaneously, and Shaw breathes in as Root picks up the pegs in her peripheral vision, and swiftly clamps them onto her nipples. It is a  _ lot,  _ immediately. Shaw’s horny enough that it’s _good_ , but it’s seriously intense, the delicate flesh completely crushed by the strength of the pegs, and she can’t swallow the pained noise that squeaks out of her, squirming as she tries to adjust to the new, roaring points of agony pinning her to her skin.

She doesn’t get a lot of time to adapt, because Root strokes over her buttcheek with the paddle she must have picked up while Shaw was squeezing her eyes shut and panting out of her nose. 

The first blow isn’t light, explorative; it’s an echoing, powerful hit that shoves Shaw forward, her arms taking her weight as hot pain sings through her left buttcheek. Root doesn’t switch, she deals out nine more fast, furious hits to that same spot and then moves over to the other cheek. Ten and ten and ten and ten, Shaw’s upper thighs and ass thrumming and tender, until she’s pulling away from the blows, flinching in anticipation and Root finishes the set before resting the paddle on Shaw’s lower back and cupping her pussy from behind.

Shaw moans helplessly into the blankets as she feels Root squeeze gently, pushing the heel of her palm against Shaw’s aching, needy entrance even as she avoids Shaw’s clit. Shaw pushes back into the stimulation, hot and wet and throbbing, sweat sliding on her forehead against her forearm. 

Root works her like that for a few minutes, until Shaw is right on the edge of a killer orgasm, and then suddenly Root’s hand is gone and cold air hits Shaw’s heated pussy as Root abandons the paddle in favour of working Shaw over with her bare hand. As the first blow lands, Shaw can feel the stickiness of her own arousal left in the impact’s wake. 

She doesn’t know how long Root hits her for, all searing flashes of pain punctuated with soft, slow massages of her desperate cunt, until she’s moaning on every blow and tears are stinging her eyes and Root unclips the pegs on her mostly-numb nipples to a roaring resurgence of feeling, split by the sensation of fingers pushing roughly into her from behind, dragging over her gspot with firm, long strokes that make Shaw’s knees buckle. 

Her orgasm is swirling, flashing behind her eyelids, but Root hasn’t said she can come so she hangs onto it, her pussy clenching down on Root’s searching fingers and there’s a hand on her stomach, then blessed contact for her clit, and Root muscles her down onto the bed with her whole body, says, “come for me, now, Sameen,” and Shaw explodes in an orgasm that feels like it’s been waiting in her bones for days, rocking her whole body with increasingly violent shudders.

Root lies on top of her, heavy weight like she’s the one who just came so hard her brains are probably splattered on the ceiling and the feel of her breathing is a welcome rhythm for Shaw’s body to copy, to come back to, to focus on. 

As soon as she shifts, Root rolls clear, lying on her back next to Shaw. When Shaw manages to peel her eyes open and peek, she’s massaging her right wrist with her other hand, a smug looking grin on her face.

They lie like that for a little while, until Root rolls to her feet and pulls her jeans down, kicking them clear and rummaging in her bag for a dick. She picks the feeldoe. Shaw doesn’t even know how many dicks Root bought, but she likes this one and likes the idea of being connected through to Root like that just now, so she makes a garbled noise of approval and rolls onto her back, skimming her hand over her tender nipples and not bothering to repress the full body shudder.

Root grins at her, face in sharp lines of fierce arousal, and Shaw struggles into a sitting position. The feeldoe has so little flex that there’s only a couple of positions that work and she doesn’t know how Root wants her.

It soon becomes clear, however, when Root—still t-shirt clad—slides onto the bed on her back, rubs her thumb over the head of her dick and gives her an eyebrow flick that means ‘come sit on my dick’, so Shaw squirms up the bed and swings herself over Root’s body, grabbing Root’s dick and holding it as she brushes it against her tender entrance, moaning inadvertently as she sinks down onto the solid dildo. 

Root curls her hands around Shaw’s hips, watching her face, something soft and warm in her eyes even though her whole body is tight with arousal, desperation in the little tilt of her pelvis as Shaw gets settled. 

Shaw rests her palms on Root’s collarbones, pushes down to help support herself, still a little shaky and weak from her mach ten orgasm. The skin of her ass and thighs is tender and hot, rubbing against Root’s as Shaw rocks forward, swallowing another groan as the dildo drags out of her a little, then back in, gliding slick and slow over her sensitive entrance. 

Root sits up, stomach muscles shifting under pale skin, and Shaw wants to trace them so she smooths one hand down Root’s tshirt clad chest, splaying her hand somewhat awkwardly against Root’s belly, but worth it for the contact. Root leans up for a kiss, and it’s hot and wet and sliding, broken by their laden breathing and punctuated by small gasps of pleasure. 

They sink into a rhythm easily, Shaw lifting a little and sinking back down as Root’s hips rise to meet her movements, both of them inhaling sharply as Shaw pushes down fully, grinding her clit into Root’s with a protracted moan. 

Root comes almost silently, her fingers spasming on Shaw’s hips and a dramatic inhale the only signs save for her erratic, stuttering hips and the way she melts down into the bed as Shaw pushes at her, riding into her own pleasure before Root’s fully done with hers. 

She might pass out a little bit  _ on  _ Root’s dick when she's done coming, but to be honest there are worse places to take a nap, and when Shaw stirs a little later to pull off and collapse next to her, the satiated soreness rolling through her body makes her press her grin into Root’s neck.   
  
She sleeps with her new collar digging into her throat until Root’s soft fingers stir her from her slumber as she undoes it, gentling Shaw back into darkness with a soothing hand in her hair when she’s done.


	26. Lawless Ratbags

Unlike after the kink party, Shaw is definitely feeling it the next day: Root catches her tensing and shifting uncomfortably several times through breakfast, and she knows from the waggled eyebrows Zoe keeps throwing her that she’s not managing to keep the smug look off her face. 

Shaw looks pretty pleased with herself too, all things considered, so Root counts it as a win. She thinks maybe the mountain walk with Root spilling her guts kind of ran down Shaw’s emotional battery, and she needed a bit of space and then a good, violent fuck to get her head back on straight. They took a slow start to the day to check in with each other, but it seems like last night straightened some of the kinks out for both of them. 

Root’s own emotional landscape is pretty complex right now. She’s been constantly gutted by Hanna’s death for two years—isolating herself almost completely until she met Shaw and the team. The shock and pain definitely mowed her down when this whole situation started, but right now she’s feeling pretty okay about things in general. She wants to solve the mystery, and make sure whoever hurt Hanna isn’t hurting anyone else, but she feels like if that happens then she’ll finally be able to actually move on, instead of what she now realises she was doing—repressing it save for when it bubbled up beyond her control, like when Harry was attacked. 

She wonders if her emotional reaction after Martine was sentenced for Claire’s murder is connected to her clearly unresolved issues with Hanna’s death, and then shakes the thought off, disregarding it as irrelevant. 

She and Harry managed to find a good bit of information worth looking at about the Young Artist’s award. Suspiciously, it’s only been held twice, the one Hanna entered in 2008 and once more in 2010. When they were tracking the winners, they found that the top three competitors in both events were offered scholarships at various universities in the North West—universities that don’t seem to offer scholarships in the Arts according to their websites. It’s beginning to look a lot like a conspiracy, the shape of which is becoming clearer as they find more data. Really, the biggest question is who is behind the scheme, and how do they stop them? 

“If we can figure out who’s in charge and catch them red handed, that would be ideal.” Joss points out, looking at some of the papers Harry printed off just moments ago, information about the students receiving scholarships. “But I don’t think we should ask these kids for information, we could be putting them in danger.” 

“Yeah, what impoverished seventeen year old is gonna say no to a scholarship? I reckon they probably don’t even know what they’re signing up for right off the bat,” Zoe adds, looking through some paintings done by a young artist in her first year. “I bet they were tricked. That’s how I’d run it, and I’m definitely the closest to being a criminal mastermind of any of us.”

Root snorts. “I think I’m insulted.” 

Zoe rolls her eyes. “You’re a misanthropic genius, not a criminal mastermind, you just do criminal things if necessary. I, on the other hand, frequently blackmail my friends and when I was fourteen I ran an incredibly effective shoplifting ring.” She looks smug in her conviction, and Joss groans.

“How did I get mixed up with you lawless ratbags?”

“Every gang needs the token straightedge voice of reason to keep us from setting our enemies on fire and losing ourselves to the darkness.” Shaw helps herself to the last danish since it seems like no one else is going to. She has powdered sugar on her cheek and Root resists the urge to wipe it off. With her mouth. 

“Even you wouldn’t set someone on fire,” Harold says confidently, and Shaw snorts, like ‘do you really think so?’ It should probably alarm Root that she thinks it’s adorable when Shaw talks about murdering people. 

“I would,” John says calmly. “If they did something really fucking terrible. If I thought they really deserved it and it would stop other bad things from happening.”

“Well, this took a turn for the horribly dark.” Zoe leans back dangerously in her chair and Shaw grabs the back of it on autopilot, until Zoe’s balanced and no longer flailing. “Can we go back to how I’m the best criminal mastermind?”

“Sure, Mattress Queen, Ruler of the Underpants... I mean, Underworld,” Root tries to lighten the mood, because Harold is looking at John with an expression of concern and Joss looks like she’s about ready to throw in the towel on the whole situation. “Should we call it a day on the research, email Caleb the names so he can get onto looking into them financially as well, and go look at the pretty castle?”

“I’ll call him, gimme the sheets,” Joss sounds resigned, and Root hastily piles the pertinent information up for her. Joss gets to her feet and takes them without another word, and Root sighs as she watches her head for the bedroom.

She’s startled by a warm hand on hers, and Zoe pats her again. “It’s okay, Joss has better morals than the average human, but she’s always on the side of Good vs Evil given a minute to process the fact that the rules and regulations aren’t necessarily the best way to deal with things. She’s just too good a person to succumb to the grey areas of life without a fight.” 

Root purses her lips in thought, “I don’t want to put anyone in a position they’re uncomfortable with,” she mutters, feeling awkward at the attention on her, and Zoe nods.

“And that’s why we’re comfortable with it. Well, mostly. Given time. You didn’t ask for this either, but your friend died for it so you don’t get to walk away. You’re our friend, and if we walked away we’d be leaving  _ you  _ in a bad situation, so,” she shrugs, “it is what it is. Best not to angst about it, that helps no one.”

Shaw has a complicated expression on her face, flicking her eyes from Zoe to Root and holding there. “Zoe’s right. And you never asked any of us to  _ do  _ anything. Except Caleb, I guess. Maybe that’s not helping Joss right now. Being far away from him and asking him to get involved might be stressing her out?”

“That is... very insightful, Shaw,” Zoe humphs under her breath, “why didn’t I think of that?”

“Cause I’m so emotionally competent,” Shaw snarks, getting to her feet, “and also, we’re going to miss the walking tour if we don’t do one.”

“Accurate,” says Zoe, checking the time on her fancy silver watch, “I’ll wait for Joss, you guys head out and admire the scenery.” 

It’s clearly code for ‘and let me talk to JC for a minute’ and Root doesn’t begrudge that at all, obviously. The team works in pairs, and Zoe is Joss’ pair, for sure, and if they need some time and space, then Root will do everything she can to make that happen.

“For sure,” she gets up, heading right for the door without stopping to do anything except get her coat and shoes. Shaw hastens after her, and John and Harry are only a step behind. 


	27. Dungeons and Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry to tell ya that this is your last daily update, I ran out of chapters and i have a busy week coming up. I hoped to get some more done over the long weekend, but I didn't and here we are. I hope the week of daily has given you something to look forward to in this trying time, and rest assured I'll try to get updates to you as soon as I feasibly can.
> 
> Huge shout out to @lapseinjudgement for managing to keep up with the beta reading during this post flurry.
> 
> <3

It’s a gray, overcast day, but the clouds aren’t actually opening on them as yet, and the walking tour is really interesting. Root has a full on dork out when she realises the tour includes various Harry Potter related locations, and Shaw hides her grin, but snaps a few pictures of Root excitedly pointing at Tom Riddle’s gravestone. 

They’re hungry enough by the time it ends to head straight for dinner, and they decide to go to the pub they stopped by on the tour, that features lots of information and memorabilia of one of Edinburgh's most famous criminals, a thief—Deacon Brodie—who used his day job as a cabinet repair man to case houses he would later rob. Zoe proclaims frequently over dinner that that is a brilliant plan, and that they could all stand to learn something. 

Shaw just eats a really good steak—rib eye—and some excellent creamed potatoes with a couple of delicious local ales to wash it down. 

They have tickets for the underground tour, and briefly debate the merits of being baked or not for it before deciding that yeah, they definitely should be, so they sneak off for a quick joint before meeting their tour party.

Shaw's certainly glad they smoked, as the scariest thing about their tour guide is her fashion choices, but she gets into the spirit of it a bit as they descend into candle-lit blackness. John gets nominated to be the ‘rear guard’, meaning he has to be the last out of every creepy, musty stone room, so the team obviously stay with him and lag behind the main group a little. They listen to the stories, of course, but none of them are especially bloodthirsty. 

Zoe likes the one about the lady who disembowels pregnant women, and walks through that spot a few times ‘just to check’, much to the distress of a few of the slightly softer spirits in the group. In fact, one girl is so upset by Zoe’s antics that she actually leaves the tour, her and her boyfriend exiting before it’s half done. 

It’s pretty fun in the creepy, cold rooms, though, and Shaw makes John jump a few times, grabbing his shirt or, in one especially impressive move, half climbing up the crumblingwall so she could blow on his hair, all without making any noise. It's one hundred percent worth being yelled at by the tour guide. 

The best part is the end of the tour, when the guide says they have to blow the candles out as they leave, and of course some jackass at the front of the group blows out every single one as they go, leaving the Team to find their way in complete blackness, following the noise of footsteps ahead. Even Shaw is breathing slightly rapidly by the time they tumble out into the cold and now dark night, holding Root's hand as she giggles with nervous excitement.

As they head down the street towards a gay club that came highly recommended, John drops back, and falls into step with Root and Shaw, who look at him a little confusedly, because he clearly wants something. 

“Uh, Root, when we get to the bar, can you drag Harold off to get drinks or something? I need to talk to everyone without him for a minute. Shaw can tell you why afterwards.”

“Why?” Shaw asks promptly, because of course they’ll help John out, but it’s best if you can fuck with him while doing it.

John frowns, looking uncomfortable, and then spits out. “I’m going to propose and I need help pulling it off. I mean, I’m not proposing tonight. I just need to tell everyone and then I can text them what needs to be done but I thought I should tell everyone in person.”

Shaw just about bounces off a lamppost, narrowly avoiding the metal pole, and blinking at him in what probably looks like idiotic shock. “You’re going to  _ propose _ ,” she hisses.

“Shhh,” John flaps his hand frantically. “Yes, in Paris, but it’s a surprise.”   
  
“Of course I’ll distract Harry,” Root breaks in, clearly tickled pink by the whole situation, “as long as you let me grill you afterwards because I doubt Shaw will get the juicy details.”

“Okay,” John sounds relieved, and makes to walk ahead and catch up with Harry before turning around just a step away, “And Shaw, will you be my best man? Person. Friend?”   
  
“Gross,” Shaw agrees, punching him in the shoulder, feeling oddly flattered and a little bit proud. Root looks like she’s about to have cartoon hearts popping out of her eyes any second now, so Shaw makes sure to shoulder check her.

“Need a date for the wedding?” Root inquires, quietly, as John ducks his head and speeds up, pink in the cheeks. 

“You’re probably going to be the ring bearer, or a flower girl or something.” Shaw grouses, not disagreeing, cause obviously she’ll be Root’s date to the wedding but some things are too ridiculous to say out loud. 

The bar is thumping, two floors, and Root grabs Harry to get drinks with her and the rest of the team make a run for it at John and Shaw’s behest, finding a table tucked away on the basement floor that will probably take awhile for Root and Harry to find. John quickly tells Zoe and Joss he’s planning on proposing, and while they squee and hug and generally look altogether pleased, John fishes out a little black box and lays it on the table. 

“I’ve been carrying it around for weeks,” he says. “I’m too nervous to put it in the bags in case Harold looks in them.”   
  
“Well that’s dumb,” Shaw points out, “anyone of us could have hidden it for you.” 

“Yeah, you’re the best man now, Shaw, so you have to look after the ring!” Zoe squees in delight, “Can we see? Is it a secret?”

John mutely opens the box and shows them the ring. It is impressive, even Shaw has to admit, not that she’s going to do that out loud. It’s a wide, platinum band, with cogs set into the centre of it that turn when John twists it, somehow mechanical in its set up. There are square cut diamonds in the center of every small cog, and it’s both eye-catching and very unique. 

“How the fuck did you afford that,” Shaw blinks, shocked, because while she knows for a fact that Harry made his first million when he was sixteen, she doubts John could have snuck that much money out of their shared bank account without Harry noticing. 

John mumbles a totally inaudible response, snapping the box shut and Zoe puts her hands under her chin, looking like she’s about to cry. “It’s  _ beautiful,  _ John. I love it!” 

"Yeah, it's gorgeous," Joss agrees, a little misty-eyed herself.

“What?” Shaw says, poking John, because he looks very uncomfortable.

“I wrote a children’s book,” John says, very, very quietly. So quietly it takes a second for Shaw to be sure she heard him correctly, and then her mouth falls open. This might be the happiest she’s ever been.

“YOU WROTE A CHILDREN’S BOOK,” she didn’t mean to yell it, but that’s definitely how it came out. She’s going to be able to tease John about this for the rest of his natural life.

“Yeah,” he lifts his chin belligerently, and Shaw sees that he’s actually feeling defensive so she settles back in her seat when Joss tugs gently on her arm in a silent request to let up a bit. “And it sold really well, and I bought the ring with the profits.”

“I’m definitely going to need that book,” Zoe declares, and then throws herself across the table, falling in Shaw’s lap.

Shaw flails, shocked, trying to untangle herself, and Zoe presses something little and hard into her hands just as Root announces loudly “here they are!” And drinks thud down on the table. Zoe must have seen them coming, and Shaw's now in possession of the ring. She carefully stows it deep into her pocket, and winks at John when he looks frantically around the table, bright red and clearly totally freaking. 

“John!” She says loudly, because Zoe is still half on top of her, she shoves her clear, “I still have to show you that pinball move, come on. Grab your beer.” he manages to haul John out of the table and past Harry, who looks confused but not suspicious, and then John sits down on the floor with his head between his legs next to the pinball machine and Shaw has no real choice but to sit down next to him.

“I have the ring,” she hisses, in case that’s what he’s panicking about, and John shakes his head.

“No, I just thought... what if he says no? And now I’ve told everyone! And we’re getting a house together... what if I ruin everything?”

“Urgh, are you serious,” Shaw complains, and apparently John is because he doesn’t reply. “He won’t say no you huge, gross dork. He’s obsessed with you, just like you’re obsessed with him, and it’s disgusting but probably for the best that you get married, because then you can both relax into your obvious desire to be as boring and homonormative as possible.”

“You think?” John mumbles, thudding his head against the wall.

“Yes, I think. Don’t make me reassure you, nobody wants me to be the person you need to talk to about your feelings,” she grumbles, and John sniffs, then pats her on the knee.

“You’re already a really good best man, Shaw.”

  
“Ew,” Shaw replies, because really what does one say to that? She makes sure to extra kick his ass at pinball to maintain her dignity. 


	28. Wake Me and Break Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all smut all the time, some masturbation, little voyeurism, anal, anal with strapons, p vanilla, nothing dramatic

Shaw wakes up with Root’s fingers sliding down into her shorts over the dip of her hipbone, and she grumbles happily without rolling over, shifting her leg a little to make space.

Root presses full body up behind her, breathes out long and shuddery into her neck and pads her fingertips down to the warm, soft crease of Shaw’s thigh. She drags her fingers delicately over the sensitive skin, making Shaw hum and lift her hips a little, and Root presses kisses against her shoulder blade as she pushes deeper, parts Shaw carefully and rubs down her clit from base to tip with one finger.

Shaw shudders, hums under her breath, enjoying the weight of Root pushed against her and the gentle exploration that’s sending tendrils of sleepy, warm arousal to tingle and curl in the base of her belly. 

“Good morning, Sameen.” Root noses her hair off her neck, finds some skin to suck on and kiss with an open mouth, making Shaw’s breathing hitch and catch. Root reaches down to gather some wetness, drag it up over her clit so her fingers are slick and slippery, pressing against the rapidly swelling bundle of nerves.

“Mmm,  _ good  _ morning,” Shaw cocks her hips back, rolling them into Root’s body, and Root hums approval, hooks one leg over Shaw’s and pushes her own hips forward, warm and solid against Shaw. 

They shift and rub against each other for a little while, Root dipping her hand progressively deeper each time before she circles back to rub Shaw’s clit in slow, lazy movements. 

“Can I stick a dick in your ass, lover? I was dreaming about it...” Root’s voice is low and throaty, thick with arousal, and Shaw likes that they can be like this sometimes, that sleepy-slow morning sex doesn’t have to have commands snapping through it. 

It feels very early to get fucked in the ass, but Shaw trusts Root to warm her up right and make it good, so she nods and spreads her legs further, tangling her fingers through Root’s under the pillow. 

“Yeah, slow though,” she mumbles, to make sure Root definitely knows how she wants it, and Root snickers, pressing her mouth against the tendon in Shaw’s neck.

“You got it.” She keeps touching Shaw for a bit longer, firm strokes that spike Shaw’s blood with heat and make her moan softly into the pillow and then Root slides her hand out of Shaw’s shorts and back under at the rear, dragging her knuckles over the curve of Shaw’s ass. Shaw shivers, lifting her hips, and Root presses her fingertip against the pucker of muscle that twitches in anticipation.

Absently, Shaw’s glad she took a quick shower after they got back from the club as Root pushes just inside, using Shaw’s own slick as lube, which won’t last but does fine for a light warm up. Shaw tenses as the sensation sparks through her, then relaxes into it as Root hums and rubs gently, warming the muscle to softness until she can push in a little further. 

Shaw exhales, arches, closes her eyes and rolls her hips. “Can I touch myself?” She mumbles into the pillow, feeling hot and heavy, her clit buzzing with anticipation.

“Mmm, yeah,” Root agrees easily, arousal thick in her voice and the movements of her hips against the muscle of Shaw’s thigh. 

Shaw slips her own hand into her pants, sighing in relief as she makes contact with her throbbing clit, pressing down hard to try and ease the ache of swollen flesh.

Root teases for a little while, just inside, and Shaw shifts and arcs under her, losing herself in the waves of feeling running through her body. 

When Root pulls out, Shaw whimpers in protest, close to an orgasm already and not really seeing why she can’t have one now and some more later, and there’s a chuckle in Root’s voice as she slides out of bed. “Take your clothes, off, Sameen, then lay on your tummy again for me.” 

Shaw obeys the letter of the instructions, but probably not the spirit—she wriggles out of her shirt and then she slides her fingers down to tease at her pussy, groaning brokenly as she pushes inside, kicking her jammy shorts off at the same time.

Her weight is heavy on her arm, and she can only move her hand a little, but it feels so fucking good. Shaw’s been known to jerk off like this, face down and pressed to the pillow, and her body knows the moves. 

“Oh, really?” The mattress dips where Root rests her weight on it, but Shaw has her eyes closed and her fingers tugging against her gspot, heat washing through her at the feeling combined with the smirk in Root’s words. 

She doesn’t reply, ‘cause Root has the tone that means she doesn’t have to, and that she’s not actually telling Shaw to stop, so she just lifts her hips in invitation, groaning as the change in angle lets her hit a better spot. 

“Fuck, that’s a pretty view,” Root breathes, and Shaw clenches down hard at the words, opening her mouth against the cotton under her face. 

Root settles between Shaw’s legs, running her hand up the back of Shaw’s thigh, and Shaw lifts into the caress, deliberately spreading herself wider so Root can see what she’s doing, how she’s touching herself. 

“You gonna come like that for me, lover, before I’m even inside you?” And Root definitely sounds like she approves of the idea, and her fingers are digging into the thick muscle of Shaw’s ass and it’s so fucking hot with Root watching her without interfering that Shaw nods into the pillow and fucks herself a little harder, a little firmer.

Root exhales harshly, squeezes the rise of Shaw’s ass, and Shaw feels like she can  _ feel  _ the weight of Root’s eyes zeroed in on where her fingers are driving in and out of her clenching pussy and it makes her shiver, grinding her clit harder against her palm.

“Oh, darlin’, you have no fucking idea how hot you look right now.” Root sounds breathless, shimmery, and Shaw knows just how to flex to make the fingers grabbing her pull a little more, and Root gets the idea immediately and uses her grip to open Shaw wider, let her get deeper, and then her thumb brushes over Shaw’s exposed asshole and Shaw’s coming apart in a wave of sensation, muffling her soft cry with the pillow under her face.

Root groans approvingly and pushes inside Shaw’s ass before she’s done coming, and clenching down on the intrusion spreads Shaw’s orgasm further, brings her back up and extends the sparkling, hot pleasure into another peak. 

She must have lubed up, because her finger is sliding easily where before it was catching just a little, and she works Shaw through her orgasm with slow, deep strokes, pressing so far inside Shaw that she can feel Root’s palm, snug against her ass cheeks.

Root lets her shake and steady for a few moments before pulling out and sliding another finger in, stretching her out with a scissoring motion until Shaw’s hips are lifting to meet her gentle thrusts again, and Root is half on top of her, pressing their bodies together.

Shaw can feel the dick Root’s wearing pressed against her hip—it feels smaller and softer than any she can remember, not that they’ve managed to work their way through Root’s whole collection yet—Root has favourites and tends to pick whatever she’s into rather than trying everything once. 

“What, oh, fuck,” Root twists her fingers, distracting Shaw before pulling out and then rearranges, urging Shaw’s legs wide apart. She’s spread out, but not up on her knees or anything, just flat on her front. The angle will be gentler like this, calmer. Shaw approves, feeling dizzy and soft from her orgasm. 

When Root lines up, the drag of the dick across Shaw’s sensitised skin reminds her. “What dick is this?” She pants, lifting up a little to help Root find her position.

The velvety head teases over her perineum, sending fireworks skittering down her nerves and then Root shifts her weight, pushing forwards and breaching Shaw’s tight hole in a slow, drawn out thrust that makes Shaw whimper and shiver.

“It’s new,” Root exhales onto her shoulder blade, hot breath tingling against Shaw’s skin while she adjusts. 

The dick isn’t very big, and when Shaw clenches down on it involuntarily, it gives quite a lot. It feels kind of like when a guy gets inside you before he’s all the way hard, very different from the usual kind of intense anal they go for when they’re running more of a scene. It feels good, dragging across all the right nerve endings without being too much, too shocking or at all painful, and Shaw groans approvingly, reaching back with one hand to grab a handful of Root’s ass and encourage her to press deeper.

When she’s all the way seated, Shaw trembling as she adjusts to the weight and fullness right after an orgasm, Shaw can feel the press of balls up against her ass cheek and it makes her grin into the pillow, rolling her hips up.

“Balls and all?” She murmurs, shifting a little and pushing her shoulders off the bed so she can get leverage to meet Root’s slow thrust as she pulls back and slides in again, her stomach flipping in pleasure.

“Yeah. I, shit, you’re so tight,” Root mutters, clearly very distracted, and Shaw snickers breathlessly, spreading further, so Root can get even closer. “I got it for the kink party. For tight pants, so I can pack for longer and still fuck you.”

“In the ass,” Shaw groans, clenching down and tensing her ass muscles deliberately so Root gets the full pressure benefit to push against. There’s hot fire coiling in her belly, lightning tingling through her spine.

“Yeah,” Root pants, her breathing hitching. She rearranges and wraps a hand around Shaw’s wrist, using it to pull on so she can increase her force a little, “I mean, not exclusively, I’m sure I could still make you scream the traditional way.”

“Mmm,” Shaw agrees, ‘cause when has Root ever had an issue with that? A hand snaking down under her hip thoroughly offlines her brain and she loses her words when Root makes contact, pressing against Shaw’s clit and just holding still, letting the weight and shift of Shaw’s hips be the only friction. “Fuck,” Shaw breathes out, wriggles, tries to rub herself off on Root’s fingers, and Root chuckles throatily. 

“I love it when you squirm,” She bites down on Shaw’s neck as punctuation, the bolt of pain sparking through Shaw’s nervous system and making her clit twitch against Root’s fingers. Root pinches the tender flesh gently, maybe in reward, and Shaw groans, trying to wriggle up onto her knees without losing contact, so Root can have more room to work and Shaw can participate a little more, feeling increasingly energized by the minute.

Root holds her down with her body for a few long, slow thrusts and then relents, letting go of Shaw’s wrist in favour of pushing up off the bed, letting Shaw squirm backwards until they’re both on their knees, without ever sliding all the way clear. As soon as they’re settled, Root grabs the headboard with her stupid long arms and puts more force into her thrusts.

Shaw yelps, but she brought it on herself by forcing them up, and it feels so fucking good. The soft-hard dick is super realistically textured, and Shaw can barely feel whatever harness Root’s wearing. It’s stupidly erotic hearing her pant and grunt as she pushes home, like she’s feeling every inch of Shaw’s tight ass as she slides in and out.

Her fingers soon trip down Shaw’s stomach to tug on her pubes playfully and then slide lower, dragging slick up from her neglected, dripping pussy over her clit and rubbing firm, deliberate circles of the kind that mean Root is trying to make Shaw come, now. 

Shaw can feel Root’s own approaching orgasm in the occasional erratic twitch of her fingers, her loss of rhythm in her hips and breath, but she wants to feel Root come inside her before she goes over, doesn’t want to miss a second of Root letting go.

She tips her head back, leaning on Root’s shoulder, eyes rolling back until she closes them, trying to fight off her orgasm. “I wanna feel you, fuck, come in my ass, Root,” she pants brokenly, digging her fingers into the pillow wedged in front of her knees, “please, please Root.”

Root growls, seizes Shaw’s shoulder between her teeth and speeds up, thrusting deep in once, twice, three times, and then stuttering to a rigid halt, leaving Shaw to keep them moving with strong rolls of her hips, powering the movement with her muscular thighs while Root rides out her orgasm but somehow manages to keep her fingers moving on Shaw’s clit until she lets go, jerking forwards and slamming her hand into the wall loudly as she comes.

She’s clenching down wildly on the dick inside her, she can feel the squeeze and compression of the toy and somehow it feels better than coming on something hard, like her orgasm spreads out and takes over more of her body, every muscle tingling. She can’t take her body weight any more and she slumps forwards, hunched over the pillow with her hand still on the wall as she rides the orgasm out. Root twitches behind her, sending a wash of sensation barrelling out from Shaw’s ass and she moans in appreciation-complaint as Root slowly pulls out. 

Shaw can’t move just yet, but she hears rustling over top of Root’s heavy breathing, and then a thump which is probably the dick hitting the ground—Shaw makes a mental note to check it out later, and then there are warm, strong arms curling around her and pulling her back to the bed to lie against Root’s heaving chest.  


	29. This Chapter is Garbage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this is the worst thing I have written in a long time, possibly ever

They lounge around in bed until Zoe knocks to let them know they’re leaving in twenty minutes, forgoing coffee in favour of cozy time, just curled up against each other and talking quietly about whatever crosses their minds.

Root is happy with a banana for breakfast, but Shaw insists they stop in at a coffee shop on the way to the castle so she can get something ‘real’. Root waits for her outside the cafe, and then holds the umbrella over them both as they walk down the street, Shaw scoffing a bacon and egg muffin, getting grease all over her face. It feels pleasingly couplish to Root, and it seems like it’s just practical to Shaw, so it's the best of both worlds. 

The amble down the Royal Mile would have been more pleasant if the weather wasn’t gray and wet, soaking through their jeans in short order, but they already did the walking tour so it doesn’t feel like they missed anything. They’re off to the highlands tomorrow, anyway, so this is their last chance to see the castle.  

It’s pretty awesome: John really  enjoys the cannons, and they have to drag Shaw out of the military history museum, which she thinks is way more fun than the general castle walkaround.

They’re soaked and tired by the time they’re done mooching through the points of interest, and head back to the apartment to get takeout rather than keep wandering around the rainy city . 

One shower between six cold, wet people isn’t super convenient, and Root and Shaw share for efficiency, not even taking the time to grope each other soapily due to the fact Zoe’s outside shivering under a blanket.

Once they’re all thawed out, they settle down in the living area to watch Sky High, and just chill out eating Indian food.

 

***

 

The next day they’re up early for the drive to the highlands, and the weather is still completely miserable. It takes Root and Shaw about four hours to get to their accommodation, which Zoe’s aunt had set up for them through some fancy timeshare thing she’s part of. They’re staying at a hotel in the Caingorms for three days while they do some hiking before flying to Paris out of Aberdeen.

It’s a good few days: the weather breaks enough for decent hiking weather, and Root and Harry manage to do a lot of research into the people running the Young Artists Award while John surreptitiously plans his proposal with Zoe and Joss and kind of sort of Shaw, although judging by the amount of time she clearly isn’t paying any attention she’s not overly involved. 

She does tell Root she’s already planning the bachelor party though, and she has an evil smirk on her face while saying it.

They’re in the airport waiting to board when Shaw’s phone rings with an unknown number, and she hands it to Root with a complicated expression. “Fingers crossed it’s flight center letting me know I’ve won a trip if I just answer a few simple questions...” she deadpans before Root takes a deep breath and clicks the ‘accept’ button.

She doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, a voice comes through, “Shaw?” 

It’s Kelli, Root recognises her voice and she feels herself relax at the realisation.“Root, actually. Shaw’s not much for phones. What can I do for you?” She asks with only a modicum of sarcasm. She wants to help Kelli out of the jam she’s clearly stuck in, and Kelli did try to help them out, but she’s also being less than forthcoming and it’s very frustrating. Root is  _ going to _ find out what this Jay guy is doing, where he is, and she’s gonna shut him down, with or without Kelli’s help, but it would undeniably be easier  _ with _ .

“I just wanted to let you know that Jay’s left town, so it looks like the heat is off, for a little while at least.” 

“Right. But you’re not going to tell us anything we can use...” Root trails off, meeting Shaw’s eyes. Shaw twitches her eyebrow a little and Root manages a weak attempt at apologizing. “I know you have no reason to trust us, but you should believe me when I say that Jay has no idea what he’s up against, here.”   
  
“And  _ you _ have  _ no idea  _ what I would be risking to help you any more than I already am.” Kelli hisses, angry now. The dialtone follows before Root has a chance to respond.

She fills the others in briefly as they line up to board, “I just... I don’t understand why she even  _ is  _ calling to let us know Jay’s out of town or whatever. It’s not her fault we’re mixed up in this, it’s a total fluke she even knows us, so why is she so bothered?”

John shrugs, handing his passport and ticket over. “Maybe it’s not real when you don’t know who you’re hurting. Maybe she just doesn’t wanna wake up and find out two people she knows di...” he flicks his eyes to the man scanning his passport and smoothly rephrases, “didn’t come out so well from a situation that she could have prevented.” 

“Who knows,” Joss agrees, shuffling down the corridor toward the plane. “Maybe she just thinks you’re good, ordinary people who don’t deserve to get hurt. Maybe she knows the paintings had nothing to do with you in the first place.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Zoe adds, squeezing down the aisle and heading for her seat, “although I wish I’d met her. It’s hard to get a read on her with limited information.”

“Root’s pretty good at telling people what they want to hear when she’s trying to get what she wants,” Shaw says as she shoves her carry on into the overhead locker. 

Root snorts and pinches Shaw’s bum, just because she can, getting a narrow-eyed look over Shaw's shoulder. She bats her eyelashes. “I might be too close to this one: I keep losing my temper. It’s just.. So frustrating. If Kelli gave us his name we might be able to pin him, but all we have is ‘Jay’ and I’m not convinced that’s anything more than a nickname. I’m thinking maybe he’s got evidence of Kelli committing crimes, which would explain why she’s so reluctant to help us.”

“If she thought she was going to get in big trouble,” Zoe agrees, sitting down. “Makes as much sense as anything else.”

“Well... Jay’s leaving town, and we’re going to Paris,” John declares, looking a little wild-eyed, “so maybe we can have a few days off from this. Caleb did say he was getting close on tying the fundraisers and sponsors to some art sales over the last few years. Maybe he’ll just be able to connect the dots and we won’t have to do anything else.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Root doesn’t sound confident even though she tries to inject some energy into her voice, sliding her seatbelt on and kicking her shoes off. John’s proposing in Paris, and that’s a big deal, and he’s clearly thinking that all this mystery solving is going to get in the way. Shaw and Zoe have kept her updated on the proposal plans and it seems that John has booked a box at the Opera house and then needs the rest of the team to set up some stuff on one of the bridges before he walks Harry over.

Shaw made several vomit sounds while repeating the plans to Root, but it sounds pretty cute, if incredibly romo. She reckons if Shaw ever proposed to her it would be like, on the spur of the moment, post coital probably, and then she’d be mortified for a week. It makes her grin just thinking about it, and Shaw elbows her. “What?”   
  
“Nothing,” Root replies innocently, as the plane engines rev up. 


	30. A picture from John's children's book!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at this spectacular picture [ Sam](http://spicycheeser.tumblr.com/) drew for me! What an A+ babe!
> 
> Guess who is who! And if you get it wrong, no candy for you :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot of the story is when some animals go away to university and have to share a dorm and become Very Good Friends.


	31. Est Bon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right well this is the first thing I've managed to write since that garbage bag of an anon decided to come shit all over my inbox, so if it's terrible plz excuse. 
> 
> I've got anon comments turned off on here, because I literally just Cannot, so if you wanted to say something nice and you're an anon then have a <3 thanks! anyway. You can still leave anons on my tumblr because I am able to report and block IPs over there, which makes me feel better.

Paris has been on Shaw’s bucket list since she was little. It was somewhere she always thought she’d go with her dad, he used to rave about the architecture and the art. But they’d never made it to Europe before he was gone, and now she’s here with the Team, which is a little weird, but good. She feels like she can imagine her dad here, as a younger man. He’d lived in Paris for a while in his early twenties and it’s like she can almost see him out of the corner of her eye, striding down the Left Bank, or gesticulating excitedly about some important building. Grinning as he explains why the Raft of the Medusa is such an incredible piece of art.

Art is something Shaw has extremely mixed feelings towards. Looking at a lot of art and feeling  _ nothing _ when she knew she was supposed to, when her dad’s eyes were lit with excitement and passion, was a strange and dislocating sensation. But her dad, instead of being upset or angry, found ways to share his passion with her. Found things she could understand and connect to. Helped her understand her own self through creation. Her own art has always been something she  _ felt _ , on a deep, base level. She remembers mixing colours, splashing paint. Smearing the perfect shade of livid scarlet through the thick, black base she’d laid with a palette knife, the day her dad bought her her own set of paints and an easel, set to her nine year old height. Knowing where the colours should go, if not why.

When they go to the Rodin museum Shaw mostly just looks at the Gates of Hell while the others roam the gardens. She sits and sketches some of the figures peering out of the thick, black bronze, seeing rage and fear, and other, more complicated emotions she can reproduce on paper but not name without thought, analysis. She sits, and she thinks, smirking a little as she maps out the curve of the Thinker’s shoulder.

Root finds her blocking out the shapes of Paolo and Francesca, the silhouette falling over her sketch book breaking her concentration. “Hey babe, the Team’s done. You wanna stick around for a while?” 

Shaw shrugs her shoulder, flipping her sketchbook closed. Even now, so deep in with Root that sometimes Shaw can’t quite figure out what stuff felt like before she was around, her art feels private. Like showing Root would be showing her too much of her insides.

“I could use a coffee,” Root traces her hand so gently down Shaw’s shoulder she doesn’t actually feel it, “and everyone else is just going back for a nap before we hit that restaurant your mom was telling us about. We can just meet them there?”

“Yeah, okay.” Shaw relaxes a little against the convenient rock she’s leaning against, huffing in irritation as she realises a tourist is now right in her line of sight. 

“Coffee?” Root inquires, taking two steps forward and knocking into the tourist enough that he steps sideways, before apologising dramatically with a look of ridiculous embarrassment on her face. 

Shaw rolls her eyes, opening her sketchbook up again now her view is clear. Root brings her a coffee anyway.

 

***

“Hey!” Zoe hails them as they wander down the street, checking the addresses as they go. The Team is already in a fairly long queue, and they slide in next to them, giving an apologetic shrug to the people behind them. Zoe grabs Root and pulls her in for a double cheek kiss, which she’s taken to doing with everyone except Shaw, cause even Zoe ain’t that stupid. 

Root leans down goodnaturedly, “y’all been here long?”

Shaw frowns at the Texan expression, because that’s better than what her body wants to do, which is melt a little bit.

“About an hour,” Zoe replies, sliding her hand through Joss’ elbow and grinning cheerfully at them. Shaw blinks in surprise, and Joss huffs, shoving Zoe slightly.

“Like ten minutes, if that,” she clarifies, and Zoe shrugs, lifting her free hand.

“Time is an illusion!” Harry opens his mouth and Shaw swiftly gets her hand up to block him.

“Not an invitation for a theoretical discussion of time, Finch.” Finch subsides, looking slightly crestfallen, and Root grins at him.

“I gotcha, Harry. We can sit together.” 

“Then I’m sitting at the other end.” Shaw smirks, shoving Zoe forwards as the queue moves. They’re right at the front now and they can see through the huge windows—divided into palm sized squares. “Okay, mom was right, that looks sweet.” The restaurant is laid out in huge, canteen style tables, but made of wood and clearly pretty old, judging by the condition they’re in. The walls are gorgeous, there's huge windows everywhere and decorative wooden edging. It looks exactly like something out of Harry Potter.

Just as she thinks that, Root snickers, “do you think they know we’re muggles?” And Zoe laughs, bustling through the entrance when the server waves them in. 

The long trestle style tables are packed, elbow to elbow, and the Team are shown to an end spot. Zoe plops down next to the other customer immediately, and greets them in confident French, getting into a conversation too fast for Shaw to follow, but she’s not super interested in talking to strangers anyway, even though that’s one of the points of the restaurant.   

She takes the end seat, John sits next to her, Joss opposite, Harry next to Joss and Root next to the strangers. Zoe clearly introduces her, because Root joins the conversation easily. Shaw has noticed over the past few days that it is  _ ridiculously  _ attractive when Root speaks French, so she’s glad she’s on the other end of the table, for once. It’s a nice mix up, actually, and she has a fun mostly talking sports with John and Joss without having to think about whether or not Root is being excluded, not that she ever seems to mind.   
  
The meal is delicious, and Shaw is full enough she groans as she gets to her feet, holding her hand over her stomach like she’s pregnant. Zoe immediately tells Root she’s sure the baby will have her eyes, so Shaw hits her, and they all head out, giggling. They were gonna have a drink somewhere, but by overly-full consensus decide to head back and have an early night. They’re doing the Louvre tomorrow, and John is taking it very seriously, insisting they get there at opening time in case they want to spend the full day because there’s ‘so much to see’.

Their apartment is two bedrooms with  _bunkbeds_ in the living area, which Joss and Zoe have taken, obviously, and Shaw sighs in relief as she shuts the door bedhind her before flopping onto the bed, undoing her pants but too full to pull them down. 

Root goodnaturedly helps her out, and they lounge around in bed for a while before hitting the hay, toes just touching in the middle of the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for fun- root and zoe were playing a game of 'how high can we build this elaborate tower of lies' with the two people they were sat next to. :D


	32. You Gotta Play Louvre Charades or What's The Point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I am still not doing very well at writing, it's taking a lot of energy and effort right now and I'm pretty low on it, so again, apologies if this isn't really Up To Standard, I'm trying to get myself back in the groove, as it were.

They manage to make it to the Louvre exactly as it opens, and once they’ve gotten their tickets and maps and stuff John and Harry head off to follow the guide John has downloaded, called 'how to maximise your time in the Louvre'. Everyone else is feeling less serious about it and they huddle together in a four, with Joss in charge of the map. 

“Why don’t we start with the statue room, here, do the loop, then go up past the Venus de Milo?” Joss traces her finger across the map, and Shaw nods.

“Sounds good to me, I wanna see the Raft, that’s in with the French paintings, and Venus, obviously, and I guess the Mona Lisa cause that’s the thing to do. And then mostly I wanna look at the swords and maybe the Egyptian stuff.”

“I’m not fussy,” Root leans her shoulder against the big marble pillar and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“True, look at who you’re dating,” Zoe declares excitedly, getting an ‘oh snap,’ from Joss and a half-hearted shove from Shaw.

Joss folds the map up and tucks it in her back pocket, “alright, well if no one else cares that much, I’m in charge.”

“You’re always in charge of my heart,” Zoe agrees, grabbing Joss’ hand and tugging her in forward, clearly in the wrong direction as Joss tugs back and leads the way through one of the huge entrance ways. 

“You guys are so romo it’s gross,” Shaw grumbles, stomping after them. Root unfurls herself from the pillar, hiding a grin at Shaw’s ‘yuck’ face and catching up with her in two long strides. 

“If I was gonna romo for anyone it would be JC, true,” Zoe unlinks from Joss with a delighted expression and jogs to a small statue of a very ugly cherub who is frantically masturbating with a scrunched up face. She stands next to the statue and hunches up, mimicking the face and pose of the statue almost exactly, apart from being several feet taller and a lot less nasty. “Best museum ever,” she declares.

Shaw snorts, pushing Zoe away from the ridiculous statue before anyone can get offended, and Root, laughing, pulls the cherub face over Shaw’s shoulder, cracking Joss and Zoe up.

It becomes a bit of a theme for the day, Zoe doing ridiculous impersonations of the art, Root’s favourite is the painting of the two topless women, both with very sage expressions, one pinching the other one’s nipple in what basically looks like an ‘okay’ sign for no apparent reason. 

They wander through the statues, admire the Venus De Milo for a few minutes and head up to the paintings. Shaw wants to sketch from the Raft so Root meanders through the gallery with Joss and Zoe, and then they pick Shaw up when they’re done, and all move on to the next gallery together. 

Root isn’t really much for old paintings, although she recognises a few of Hanna’s favourite artists which is kind of bittersweet. Shaw’s being pretty quiet, and Root thinks she’s maybe doing a lot of thinking about her dad, so she mucks about with Zoe and lets Shaw amble along with JC, doing some more repressed admiring.

Zoe is convinced they’re going to find the ‘penis room’ if they look hard enough—pun fully intended—and she regales Root with stories of how, during some period of extreme religiousness, all the statues’ penises were covered up with fig leaves, but then when the time came to reveal the penises, most of them broke off  _ with  _ the leaf and now, apparently, there’s a room full of just statue penises somewhere in the Louvre. Root isn’t entirely sure she believes Zoe at all, but it’s fun watching her peep through the pillars into lower rooms, looking for the elusive room of cocks. 

By lunchtime, they’re all flagging a bit, and head to the extremely overpriced restaurant for some refueling. 

“I got it,” Root says, as they start looking at the menus, and Joss makes a face.

“You gotta stop buying stuff for us, Root,” she frowns.

Root rolls her eyes, “ugh, I hate that. It’s not an obligation buy, okay, I just don’t wanna sit here having my meal spoiled by your sad ‘I can only afford a salad in this stupidly expensive restaurant when we have no other choices and are being exploited’ faces, so let me pay and then everyone’s happy. It’s not like I can’t afford it.”   
  
“That’s true, she can definitely afford it,” Shaw points out, her menu closed, clearly already having decided.

“Money is a capitalist invention to make almost everyone miserable anyway, screw the system. I charge old white men absurd amounts of money for old rope, let them buy you lunch.” Root gives her best persuasive grin.

Joss snorts, closing her menu, “fine, I’ll let the old white men buy me lunch, make sure you rip one off extra for me.” 

“I’ll put a special surcharge in just for you next time I work for someone I hate,” Root snickers, glad to have persuaded her, and Zoe leans over for the water, pouring everyone a glass.

“I literally never say no to people offering to buy me things. If they don’t want to, they shouldn’t offer,” she hands Root a glass, “although that does often lead to people thinking I owe them sex cause they bought me dinner or whatever.”

“I’m buying you lunch, but don’t worry, no pressure to put out,” Root intones mock seriously, flashing a quick grin at Shaw who rolls her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I’m still in the black from the last time,” Zoe half-yells delightedly, and Joss saves the water jug from being thrown on the floor in excitement. 

Shaw just shakes her head and downs her water with a mildly amused expression.

The server interrupts their giggles to take their order, and they settle down with wine while they wait for their food, which turns out to be amazing. Root has the fanciest grilled cheese she’s ever had in her life, matching Zoe’s order. Shaw, predictably, has a steak, and Joss has a gorgeous looking pan-seared tuna dish. Everyone except Shaw is too full for dessert, so they all just watch, fascinated, as Shaw works her way through an icecream sundae that is  _ quite literally  _ the size of her head. And yeah, Shaw’s not an enormous person, with an enormous head, but it is still  _ very  _ impressive that she manages to finish it off. 

Revived, they head back out into the museum proper, heading right for the Egyptian section. They get lost pretty fast in the underground exhibits, but it doesn’t matter. The huge stone pieces are pretty impressive, Root has to admit, and Shaw clearly enjoys looking at the ancient artifacts—especially the weaponry—because she’s a huge nerd.

They eventually find their way out and decide to head to the Greek, Etruscan and Roman antiquities section. It’s pretty cool, although Root isn’t especially interested. She’s having a good time with her good people, though, and watching Shaw being excited about the armour and blades is pretty worthwhile in Root’s book. 

They make it til around seven before everyone starts getting hungry and grouchy, and they swing past the Mona Lisa briefly, but it has a huge line up and none of them are interested enough to join it and get a close up look. 

The amount of people who appear to be filming their entire visit is absolutely flabbergasting to Root, why the fuck would anyone want to watch a shitty, wobbly museum video for hours? She wouldn’t even want to watch it if she’d made it herself, which she would literally never do. Seeing yet another woman stopping in front of a picture to take a selfie and move on without even  _ looking  _ at the art makes her growl, and Shaw looks up at her, bumping her side gently.

“People are terrible. Ignore them and they’ll go away.”

“Sometimes I forget how much I hate almost everybody cause I’m hanging out with you lot who aren’t the worst,” Root mutters, suddenly feeling very irritable.

“We are delightful,” Zoe agrees, pushing past a group of people who have decided to stop in the middle of the path and look at their map, “but yeah, this is getting pretty intense, shall we bail?”

“I’m done,” Joss agrees, “we should get dinner to take back to the apartment and hibernate.”

Everyone concurs, so they extricate themselves from the busy crowds and head for the tube stop. Shaw texts John so the boys know they’ve gone, and head back to make a cozy.

They build a pillow fort on the bottom bunkbed and watch a movie—the Dark Crystal—on Root’s big laptop with bread and cheese for dinner, purchased from a local store. It feels pleasingly Parisian to Root, with the big window exposing the golden-rose sunset washing over the chimney potted roofs stretching out as far as the eye can see.  
  
Shaw’s tucked in by Root’s knees, sitting on the floor as she often chooses to, but she has her hand on Root’s bare foot and life is good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all art mentioned is true and real, and Masturbating Cherub is forever in my heart


	33. Call it a Draw?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut, mentions of rimming, competitive sex, sixty nines, face sitting, nothing dramatic it's like vanilla af for these kids.

Shaw wakes up when the front door lock clicks, she’s been sleeping lightly, lately. She’s always been good at subconsciously deciding whether or not something is worth waking up for, and apparently a door opening unexpectedly makes the cut today. Sliding out of bed without disturbing Root—curled up on her side facing the window, the blankets wrapped up under her chin leaving Shaw forced to press up against her if she wants any covers—Shaw pads lightly to the  bedroom door and cracks it.  

John’s big but graceful figure is easily recognisable in the streak of moonlight that’s slid through the gap between the curtains, he’s picking his way across the floor carefully. His stealth is somewhat ruined by Harry shuffling behind him knocking into almost anything he possibly could. It’s almost like he’s  _ trying.  _

Shaw snorts and steps back into her room, shutting the door. Absently wondering what kept the boys out until—she checks her phone—one thirty, she slides back into bed, trying to tug some of the comforter back onto her side of the bed.

Root grumbles and rolls over, crawling on top of Shaw and squirming her arm under the pillow, mostly without waking up. Shaw inhales deeply, quashing her body’s first, instinctive reaction to push Root off her. Shaw’s body is good at Root now, mostly, but cuddling is far from ingrained in her muscles and it takes her a second to put her arm over Root’s shoulders. The warmth of Root’s sleeping skin seeps through the cotton of her tshirt, and that more than anything relaxes Shaw into the closeness.

Root hums approval as her muscles soften, partially awake after all, it seems, and presses her mouth against Shaw’s throat, breath tickling the soft skin. 

Good dreams follow and Shaw doesn’t stir until the light from the window slices over her face, making her blink her eyes open. Somehow she’s ended up facing the wrong way down the bed. Usually she doesn’t wriggle very much so it’s probably Root’s fault, she thinks, grinning. 

Root’s rolled over with all the covers again, on her side facing away, and Shaw reaches out to brush her fingers over the sliver of pale skin exposed at the base of Root’s back, above her shorts.

Root lifts into her hand, so Shaw knows she’s waking up too, and she wriggles over to press her mouth against that narrow band of skin. She’s sleepy-horny and Root’s skin smells just like her, soft and sweet. Shaw traces the edge of her jammy pants, slides her hand over Root’s hip and nuzzles her cheek against the rise of muscle. 

A quiet mmm greets the move and Shaw grins into the warm material, nipping ever so gently at the curve of Root’s asscheek.

“What’re you doing upside down?” Root mumbles, lifting her leg a little so Shaw can reach between her thighs. Shaw takes advantage of the space and permission immediately, worming her hand into the tight, heated space and rubbing her fingertips gently over Root’s cotton-clad pussy.

“Woke up this way,” she replies, muffled by pressing her open mouth against material.

“This your way of asking to rim me?” Root reaches down between her own legs from the front, presses Shaw’s fingers against herself, more permission and peaceful instruction. Shaw pushes more firmly, obeying the unspoken request. Root cocks her hips into the touches. 

She grins, licking gently over the skin above Root’s shorts, kissing across the arc of her hip until she can prop herself on it with one elbow and see Root’s face. Curled against the pile of pillow-blankets she's made, Root is drowsy looking and faintly flushed, her hair’s everywhere and there’s a wet spot on the pillow next to her smiling mouth. It fills Shaw with a kind of quiet contentment that’s not especially familiar. “It’s not  _ not  _ me asking to rim you.”

“I’d have to get out of bed first,” Root responds after a moment’s pause, it’s not outright for or against the idea, but getting out of bed sounds rubbish, so Shaw tugs lightly on her hip instead.

“Roll over then,” and maybe Root is gonna say she needs to go to the bathroom before Shaw can get her mouth  _ anywhere,  _ but it’s worth a try. 

Root snorts, but rolls over, and Shaw presses in happily, wrapping her hands around Root’s hips and opening her mouth against Root’s shorts.

It takes her a few minutes to work up enough saliva that the cotton doesn’t drag on her tongue, but Root seems to have no inclination to take her shorts off right now and Shaw doesn’t feel like stopping to ask if she wants to or not, so she just nestles in closer, curling onto her own side and exhaling sharply when Root trails her hand up Shaw’s inner thigh and hooks her shorts at the waist band. 

It takes a little maneuvering, but soon Shaw is pantless and Root has her head pillowed on Shaw’s thigh, while Shaw is propped on her elbow as she pushes and sucks at the material masking Root from her. Shaw can smell her, pressed this close, and it’s filling her blood with heat and want that sings under Root’s fingers as she teases at the soft skin of Shaw’s labia with clearly no intention of touching more purposefully just yet.

Shaw’s panting, worked up a enough of a sweat that she can feel it slicking under her arms and breasts as she uses her face and mouth to pleasure Root, nips at her soft skin through the cotton carefully and rubs her tongue against Root until her jaw is aching.

She’s so wet Root’s fingers slip a little when she finally makes direct contact with Shaw’s aching pussy, murmuring, “take my shorts off, darlin’,” Shaw almost misses the instruction in the rush of sensation that washes over her when Root curls her fingers and slides them into Shaw without having touched her clit at all. 

Moaning softly, Shaw obeys, awkwardly tugging Root’s shorts down until she can kick them clear, and then Root rolls them, pushes Shaw back into the bed and straddles her face, hovering just out of reach.

“Race ya,” Root says, before lowering herself to Shaw’s mouth and pressing her own scalding lips against Shaw’s pussy.

Shaw can’t control the deep growl that bursts out of her at the double sensations; the taste of Root, so faint just moments ago, sparks across her tongue even as Root drags her tongue across Shaw’s clit. She curls her fingers around Root’s hips to hold her there, because if it’s a race Root has the clear advantage if she can pull away, but Shaw’s strong enough to keep her there, god, fuck, assuming Root doesn’t do that thing with her tongue that makes all of Shaw’s muscles tense and melt and lets Root pull back a little against Shaw’s suddenly weaker grip. 

Shaw’s not sure if the winner is gonna finish first or last, but either way sounds good to her, so she just opens her legs to give Root space, arches up as Root pushes another finger into her and concentrates on keeping her mouth moving, sucking and licking at soft warm flesh as Root does her best to distract her.

From the effort Root’s putting in to push Shaw over, she deduces it’s a winner-comes-last-race, and pulls out her best tricks. Sucking Root’s whole clit into her mouth and working her tongue over it, breathing in little, sipping gasps when the movement allows for it, Shaw’s whole world is Root. Root on top of her, inside of her dragging against her gspot, the fingers of her other hand digging delightfully painfully into the fading bite marks on Shaw's thigh. Shaw thinks maybe this is what happiness really is—a job to do that you enjoy, and someone you enjoy to do it with.

Root finds her angle and fucks Shaw mercilessly, absorbing the bucking movements of hips easily, her own stomach tense and tight against Shaw’s splayed fingers. 

Shaw groans a slides up a little, tongue fucks Root until Root gasps into her, the feeling reverberating around Shaw’s clit like she’s hit a fucking gong, and Shaw almost forgets to do anything at all for Root because Root’s hitting her gspot on every hard thrust, nipping Shaw’s clit just hard enough for Shaw to feel like there’s a chance she’s gonna slip and bite her properly. It’s all too good and too much to do anything else but drive her hips against Root’s unforgiving mouth.

Root doesn’t seem to mind though, she rides Shaw’s face, muttering something totally lost in the sounds of wet flesh sliding against her tongue. 

Shaw comes like she’s been knocked off a diving board. Root braces an arm across her thick thigh muscles to try and pin her hips down as she cries her orgasm out into the wet crease of Root’s thigh, falling and falling and clenching on Root’s softened fingers as she rubs Shaw through it slowly, tenderly, like all she wants is for this orgasm to go on forever, 

Shaw’s gasping for air by the time she remembers how to breathe again, how her body works when it’s not full of an exploding star.

“I win,” Root says smugly, though her voice is strained with arousal.

Shaw tries to reply, but it comes out as a gurgle, and Root is grinning with pleasure when she spins around, straddles Shaw’s hips, leans down to kiss her and then knee walks up her body, settling over her face again but this time able to slide her fingers into Shaw’s hair and tug her up encouragingly.   
  
Managing to shake the lethargy off a bit, Shaw kisses her pussy, hot and open mouthed, and Root groans softly, tugs on Shaw’s hair until she’s focused on Root’s clit. When she comes apart, shuddering against Shaw’s tongue, it feels a lot like Shaw won to her. 


	34. Nerves or Booze?

Joss is making coffee with bleary eyes, still in her jammies, when Root and Shaw emerge from their bedroom. Zoe’s sprawled out on the bottom bunk, so Root crawls in next to her while Shaw starts making pancake batter.

The smell must wake the boys, because John stumbles out not long after the first pancake is served to Root in bed—maple syrup, strawberries and squirty cream. He looks pretty rough around the edges, and Shaw snickers as she flips the next pancake.

“Heavy night? You woke me up coming in.” She deftly pops the next pancake on a plate, and Joss puts the toppings on before delivering it to Zoe along with a cup of coffee for Root. Root has no idea how she’s apparently earned breakfast in bed, but gleefully accepts the hot drink, settled comfortably against the wall with her legs over Zoe’s ankles. 

“M dying,” John grumbles, staggering to the couch and flopping on to it face first.

“Coffee,” Joss plops a cup down near his face, and wafts the steam at him with one hand. “Where did you guys go?”

“Some little gay bar in the Marais.” John rubs his hand vigorously over his face and sits up enough to take a mouthful of coffee. “I drank too much.”

“You gonna be okay for the big day?” Zoe inquires, leaning off the mattress so she can see him. Oh yeah, Root remembers, today is the day John’s gonna propose. Zoe has whipped cream on her nose, and Root snickers, feeling under no obligation to let her know.

“I feel like I swallowed a herd of stampeding wildebeest,” John groans, his face in the coffee mug. Shaw slopes across the room with a plate of pancakes in one hand, piled high with toppings, and a coffee in the other. Root shuffles enough there’s space for Shaw to sit on the mattress, but she folds gracefully to the floor instead, putting her mug down on the soft carpet. 

“Because of the booze or the nerves?” Zoe curls back into the bed, rolling around until she can pillow her head on Root’s thigh. Root swipes the whipped cream off her nose, lest it should leave a suspicious stain on her pants, and Zoe smirks up at her. 

“Both? I don’t know. We left the museum at like nine and I said we should go for a drink and I think I ended up handcuffed to a chair.” John moans, lifting his hand up and looking at it. Root can, indeed, see faint pink lines circling his pale skin.

“Awesome,” Shaw wriggles over to look, “definitely looks like you got cuffed. What did you do?” 

“It was just that sort of a bar,” Harry shuffles out of the bedroom, his hair wild and cowlicked, face pale, “has anyone seen my glasses?”

“You put them in the shower because you were gonna throw up,” John collapses back to the couch surface and Harry trudges towards the bathroom. 

“I can’t believe we missed a good party,” Zoe complains, grabbing Root’s plate and putting it on the floor so she has more lap space to cozy in. Shaw uses her finger to clean up the remnants of Root’s cream and strawberry juice, licking it clean, and Zoe bats at her hand. “Stop being so erotic, Shaw, it’s too early.” 

Root snickers, feeling cozy and happy, surrounded by her ridiculous friends. She can’t help but compare it to this time a year ago, when her life looked so different, felt so cold. 

“I’m gonna throw up off the top of the Eiffel Tower,” John huffs, and Joss perches on the arm next to his head, done with sorting out the kitchen. She pets his hair gently, holding her coffee mug with the other hand. 

“Naw, you’re tough, you’ll be fine,” she reassures him, “you just need some protein to soak up the sugar, gimme a minute and I’ll make you an omelette.

She’s almost knocked off the couch as John turns green and bolts for the bathroom, just about taking Harry out as he emerges, wet haired and clean. 

It takes almost another hour to get organised to leave. John manages to hold down some dry toast after he’s vomited for a while, and while he still looks a little shaky and worse for wear, he’s up and dressed.

He hangs back and grabs Shaw’s arm, and Root slows down to walk with them, because she’s nosey and Shaw’s not a great gossip. 

“I can’t do it today, now,” John hisses, clearly distressed, and Shaw shakes him off her arm, with a look of mild irritation.

“Why not?” She huffs.

“I threw up this morning! That’s not like, an auspicious start,” Root can’t swallow her snort, and Shaw snickers.

“Whatever, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s heard you puke.” 

“You think he’s fallen out of love with you, overnight, because you got wasted?” Root chimes in, helpfully.

“What? No, not that.” John shifts awkwardly.

“Well then, you’re just being a baby.” Shaw hits him none too gently, “suck it up and ask him to marry you so I can throw you a bachelor party with hot boys in shiny thongs.”

John swallows thickly, then nods, determined. “Everything’s ready for tonight, right?” 

“Yep, on our end, anyway. We’re on it.” Root doesn’t  know exactly what they are ‘on’ but Shaw sounds very confident and there’s a bunch of bags in their room she doesn’t recognise, which must be for the proposal. 

“Okay, good, okay,” John pinches the bridge of his nose, glances at where Harry’s walking with Joss and Zoe, the morning sunlight lighting them up. A soft smile takes over his face, and Shaw rolls her eyes at his expression.

“It’s gonna be fine. Great, even.” She says, half-heartedly, but John nods, looking like he feels a little more confident, and leaves them behind to go and scoop up Harry’s hand, swinging it a little as he walks.

“Marriage is weird,” Shaw bumps Root with her shoulder.

“Weird  _ and  _ archaic,” Root agrees, bumping Shaw right back, making her miss a step and throw Root an exasperated look.

“I don’t get why John’s scared Harry’s gonna say no when they already live together. Moving out is way harder than getting a divorce,” Shaw sounds dismissive, but she’s glancing up at Root to see her face, so Root thinks for a second before replying, not wanting to brush it off in case Shaw is trying to find out how Root feels about it.

“I think yeah, in a literal sense, moving out is harder than getting a divorce, but moving in is easier for most people than getting married. Even if you don’t wanna have all your friends and family around, and you just do something small, you’re still making a huge promise to someone. Tying yourselves together and saying you’ll always be a team, that you plan on always being a team? It means different things to different people, but it’s clearly important to John so that’s why he’s scared. It’s not like, let’s get married ‘cause that’s the obvious next step, it’s...making them a family in his eyes, I think.”

“John hates his parents,” Shaw replies after a second.

“Well, they rejected him,” Root has picked up that much, “so he’s coming at this with some hurt.”

“But Harry’s not gonna say no,” Shaw points out.

Root grins, “yeah, you and I know that, and deep down John knows that, but he still has to do the thing.” 

“He’ll be way less annoying tomorrow, then,” Shaw smirks.

Root throws her head back and laughs, “Shaw, tomorrow he’s gonna be  _ engaged  _ and you’re his best man... which he won’t have to keep secret anymore. You think he’s going to be  _ less  _ annoying?”  
  
“Shit. You’re right.”


	35. A Very Special Day

It’s another beautiful day as the team approaches the Eiffel Tower. Up close, it’s somehow both bigger and smaller than Shaw expected, soaring up into the clear blue sky. Root and Joss line up to get tickets while John sits on the floor and Harry pats his clammy head, and Zoe and Shaw do a loop around the base so Zoe can get some good pictures.

Even though the elevator is an option to take them up, Shaw would rather stretch her legs on the stairs than be crammed into a little glass box with a bunch of strangers, so she opts to walk up while the rest of the team take the lift. 

It’s nice, pounding the metal staircase at a decent speed, not having to wait for anyone or being in a big group so having to pause to allow people past or whatever. Shaw overtakes tourist after tourist, and has worked up a light sweat by the time she gets onto the second floor platform and spies the team waiting for her, looking out over the city. 

They walk up the last set of stairs together at a more sedate pace, and although Harry takes some painkillers when they get to the top, everyone else is doing fine. Even John seems to have recovered a bit. He should have run the first lot, Shaw thinks, sweated out the booze. 

The view is spectacular, and Shaw especially enjoys the slight feeling of vertigo created by the whistling wind and the open ironwork under their feet. Zoe isn’t too keen though, and insists on holding either Joss’ or Root’s hand the whole time. When Shaw points out that neither of them would actually be able to save Zoe if anything happened, Zoe glowers and sits on the floor instead.

They’re early enough that there aren’t too many people pushing for space, which is good for Shaw. Zoe had said that last time she was here it was pretty bad, but that Notre Dame is worse. Hopefully it will rain in the next couple of days and they can go then, so there’ll be fewer people around. 

Paris, sprawling out under them, is both huge and beautiful. The long green grass stretch next to the tower is scattered with a few tiny, brightly coloured tourists lounging around. Joss has found a map of the skyline and is busy identifying buildings, so Shaw slopes over to join her and they play a game of who can spot the building the fastest.

They don’t stay at the top too long, but no one wants to run down with Shaw so she abandons them on the top of the stairs and starts cutting down. She’s got a lot of pent up energy, it seems, which is what holidays will do to you if you don’t try and keep yourself motivated, and she makes a mental note to go running while the others are lying on the floor sometimes. She can probably get Joss and John to go with her, and maybe Zoe although Zoe hates running, thinks it’s boring. 

The sun beats down on her shoulders, cut with thick lines of shadow from the towering edifice above her, and she swerves around slowpokes coming up  _ and  _ going down with graceful ease. When she hops off the stairs onto the concrete, she amuses herself by trying to spot the team and when she does she realises they’re gonna be at least another twenty minutes, so she fires a quick text off to Zoe and heads over to lie on the grass.

Before she flops down, she spies a couple of dudebros playing frisbee, and wanders over.

“You got room for one more?” She inquires, when they look at her, holding her hand up in case they don’t speak English. Shaw’s French was never great and now she’s rusty so she’s relieved when one of them replies ‘sure’ in an Aussie accent and slings the frisbee at her. 

It’s a weak throw, so she nails the next guy with a hard and fast shot in the hopes they’ll see she can hold her own, and the next one sent her way is a solid throw that she has to jump a little for.

It’s a good way to spend the time, and she doesn’t even notice when the rest of the team arrive and sit down to one side, until she spins around for a particularly difficult catch and Root applauds, making heart eyes at her.

Shaw rolls her own, and flicks the frisbee back to the first man, “cheers, dude. Have a good day.”

The team roll around on the ground lazily for a bit before they head over to Montmartre for lunch and more touristing.

John and Harry have to leave after they poke around the Sacre Couer to head to the Opera house, and Zoe insists that the four of them get a caricature done to ‘kill the time’. Shaw thinks it’s a ridiculous idea, but Zoe cashes in two of Shaw’s last bet chips to persuade her, and that makes it worthwhile.

The final result is pretty funny: they all look ridiculous and easily identifiable. Shaw likes her glowering brows and angry scowl, which she’s sure was extremely exaggerated. Root looks like a silly chipmunk, Zoe is  _ beaming,  _ her smile taking up most of her face, and Joss looks sort of a mix between affectionate and exasperated, like a cartoon mom, which Shaw thinks is a pretty accurate representation of the ‘Zoe made me do it’ face. 

Zoe is very pleased, however, and says she’s gonna have it framed in her bedroom. They mooch around the stalls and get a beer in a small cafe before heading back to the apartment to grab some dinner and pick up the stuff they need for John’s elaborate proposal.

Honestly, the amount of rose petals seems excessive to Shaw—any number of rose petals is excessive but this is just taking it too far, she thinks, as she rummages through the bag to make sure they have everything.

Tacky rose petals, check. Expensive champagne, check. Glasses, check. They still have to go and find the violin player who usually works the Left Bank and bribe her to come and play on the bridge when Harry and John are walking down, and that’s it, Shaw thinks. The lighting is already good, supposedly, and  _ shit  _ the ring!

Shaw has a momentary total blank on where she hid John’s most prized possession and then remembers she thought it would be funny to put it with the sex toys. Wrapped up, of course, but she may or may not tell John that next time he annoys her.

Ohhh. She has an amazing idea, talking of annoying John.

“Hey, Root?” Root wanders into the bedroom and Shaw grins at her, “so, we have two hours before we have to go, and I’d love to be able to tell John that today was a special day for me too, because it was the first time I got to rim you?” She makes sure to phrase it as a question, and light in tone, cause she doesn’t wanna pressure Root.

There’s a second’s pause before Root snorts. “That’s cruel, but hilarious.” She slides across the room and slips her hands around Shaw’s waist, not having committed either way, she seems to be studying Shaw’s face.

“No pressure,” Shaw says, a bit awkward under the full heat of Root’s attention. 

Root shrugs. “What the hell, we can give it a try. I’m gonna hop in the shower.” She doesn’t ask if Shaw wants to join, so maybe she needs a minute on her own to get her head on straight. Shaw, meanwhile, tries to control the wash of heat that rushes through her at the mere idea of it, and Root’s out the door before she can reply.


	36. Rim Me Like One of Your French Girls!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a bunch of Root's processing before the smut, so watch out for the line if you're jumping the actual sex.
> 
> Content warning: smut, the usual, plus rimming, Root receiving, paradigm shift,

The water streams over Root’s face and she closes her eyes, letting the mad thrum of it past her ears block out everything else into white noise. She thinks about how often she’s had Shaw spread out under her, how easily Shaw hands over trust and control. Not that getting rimmed is submitting, per se. At the very most she’ll be topping from the bottom, but Shaw’s given way more rimjobs than Root’s received them—at least, Root assumes she’s done it before, and since Root’s never been on the receiving end that puts Shaw somewhat in the position of power. 

A position that Root knows Shaw would hand over immediately, if asked. So the trust is there, and Root’s stuck her tongue in enough asses to know it’s probably gonna feel good, which means the questions here are 1) does Root want to? And the answer to that is a solid ‘maybe who knows how could you possibly know’ which sounds annoyingly like Zoe in her head—and 2) can Root get over the mental block, where spreading herself face down for anyone feels  _ wrong  _ or at least strange. 

But she trusts Shaw, and that feels like enough to give it a shot, see how she feels about it. With that in mind, Root cleans herself up thoroughly, taking more time than she usually would, and turns the shower off with a decisive click. Time to see what all the fuss is about.

She wraps a towel around herself to pad through the living room, giving Zoe a grin where she’s sprawled out on her bunkbed.

“You guys wanna watch a show?” Zoe inquires, idly scrolling through Tumblr.

“Naw, we have plans,” Root winks when Zoe snickers and gives her a thumbs up. 

“Is there gonna be screaming?” Zoe calls after her before she gets through the bedroom door.

“I... don’t think so,” Root shrugs a shoulder, “we’ll try to keep it down.”

She shuts the door behind her. Shaw’s sprawled out, naked and propped on her elbows, playing on her phone.

“How do you wanna...?” Root inquires, feeling awkward all of a sudden, and Shaw frowns at her and puts her phone down on the bedside table, wriggling onto her side.

“If you’re gonna be weird about it we definitely shouldn’t,” she points out, but her nipples are tightening as she looks at Root and it’s not from the cold. 

“Sorry,” Root sits on the bed. Her hands feel spare, christ, she feels like a teenager, all clumsy and unsure. “I’ve never.” ‘Done this before’ remains unspoken, but Shaw nods.

“Why don’t you fuck me like one of your French girls! It’s on point because we are in gay Paree!” Shaw sounds delighted about this.

“What about..?” Root makes a weird gesture at her own body and groans, exasperated, flopping back onto the bed and covering her eyes.

“If it feels right, we’ll go with it, if it doesn’t, we won’t. It’s not that big a deal either way. Stop being a loser and come pin me down already.” Shaw inhales sharply, and out of the corner of her eye, just under her elbow, Root can see she’s started touching herself.

* * *

 

Root continues to hide for a few minutes but Shaw starts exaggerating her breathing and little gasps and says Root’s name, and that’s kind of effective in driving out Root’s weird discomfort and replacing it with heat so she rolls over and tugs on Shaw’s nipple, eliciting a deep groan. 

It’s a good groan, the kind that makes Root’s belly clench, so she leans over to bite at Shaw’s other nipple, making the smaller girl arch her back and press her free hand against Root’s head. “Jesus, fuck, yeah, that feels so good,” Shaw murmurs where usually she'd stay quiet, and Root knows what she’s doing, that she’s trying to pull Root out of herself and fully into the moment, and Shaw clearly knows  _ she  _ knows, judging by the little smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth, but Root’s feeling less off-balance already so she leans up to kiss the smug look off Shaw’s face. 

She ends up on top of Shaw, grinding down against the muscular thigh between her legs, feeling the heat of Shaw pressed against Root’s own thigh. They’re both breathing heavily, gasping into broken kisses, and Root pulls back to look, to work a hand down between them so she can drag her fingers over Shaw’s swollen clit, pressing against the back of her hand.

Shaw whines in the back of her throat, leans her head back submissively and drives her hips up into Root with more force.

“Let me see you come, sugar, I wanna watch,” Root groans out, sliding down a little to get a better angle, to push her fingers inside the hot, tight heat waiting for her and grind her palm against Shaw’s clit.

Shaw cries out softly, shuddering, and Root grins, licking up her slightly sweaty neck, feeling very much back in control. “Come on, my good girl, come for me,” and Shaw tenses and lifts, tightening on Root’s fingers, pulsing as Root teases over her gspot until she melts, panting “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Root presses her smile into Shaw’s neck as she pulls her fingers out, circling her hips on Shaw’s thigh even though Shaw’s gone floppy and limp. 

Shaw tugs on her flank gently, strokes her hand down Root’s back and nudges her face against Root’s forehead until Root surfaces for kisses. Shaw’s still breathing heavily out her nose, but she kisses Root deep and slow, sucking on her lower lip and encouraging Root’s grinding by digging fingers into her hip.

“Sit on my face?” Shaw asks, between kisses, and she doesn’t usually request stuff during sex; usually she’s completely happy to let Root run the show but it sounds like a great idea to Root and Shaw’s not being cheeky about it so it’s not worth objecting to.

“Yeah,” Root bites Shaw’s lip before sitting back, wriggling up the bed, but Shaw presses her hand against Root’s knee.

“No, turn around,” she looks a little shy, watching Root from under her eyelashes, and suddenly Root figures out what Shaw means, that Root can stay on top, doesn’t have to spread herself out, can do it like  _ this  _ and she immediately feels a little stupid. “If you want,” Shaw adds hurriedly, seeing her face.

Root shakes her head. “No, yes. I mean, I didn’t think of that. Doing it this way.”

Shaw laughs quietly, but there’s no malice in it, and she pats Root’s hip. “Oh, I see, you thought you were gonna lie face down like you do me.”

“Well, yeah,” Root grumbles, not wanting to move immediately. Shaw tugs on her gently, pulls her down the bed until Root has to straddle her or sprawl on top. She ends up with her knees either side of Shaw’s ribcage, facing down the bed. Shaw’s legs are a little bent, and Root reaches out for one, dragging pink lines down the soft skin behind her nails. Shaw shudders and does something with the pillows, and then strokes slowly over Root’s asscheek with her thumb, gentle enough to make Root shiver.

“You don’t even like being flat on your back, really,” she points out, “I was hardly gonna suggest you bit a pillow.” Before Root can reply, bracing herself on Shaw’s hipbone—admiring the contrast of her own white hand spread over Shaw’s faint bikini tan, even her most covered skin shades darker than Root’s most exposed—Shaw continues, “what colour are you?”

Root digs her free hand firmly into Shaw’s thigh muscle, taking her weight so she can lean forward and making Shaw groan and open her legs. Root can see the glint of arousal smeared across the soft pink skin and it makes her hum in pleasure. “Green.” 

“Keep me posted,” says Shaw, like they’re talking about what time Root’s gonna pick her up rather than whether or not Root’s gonna like having her ass licked, but then her hands are gently spreading Root’s cheeks and she’s blowing a stream of warm air against her and Root makes a little noise in the back of her throat and leans down, pressing her forehead against Shaw’s thigh, spreading her legs a little further. 

Shaw grunts approval and leans up. Root can feel the press of her face, and then the swipe of her scalding, wet tongue over basically untouched territory. Root doesn’t mean to squeak, but she does anyway, and Shaw groans, licking in thick, broad strokes and curling her hand around Root’s hip, not with pressure, not to keep her there, but to connect them.  

It takes a few minutes for Root to relax into it, to get in time with her body, but Shaw’s not doing anything except this, firm and deliberate and regular enough for Root to know how it’s gonna feel, how it’s going to tingle and curl in her belly. The heat is familiar even if the sensation is not. 

Shaw hums, and it vibrates into Root, making her gasp, and Shaw’s fingers tighten slightly on her hip in response. It feels strange, but good, nerve endings that usually don’t get too much attention—especially because Root isn’t much for getting casually groped—being stimulated, but Shaw’s gentle with it, careful, backing off to lighter contact when she feels Root pull away slightly.

It’s a lot to sort through, but mostly it just feels good, sparking whorls of heat swirling in her stomach, throbbing in her clit. Shaw slides her hand slowly across Root’s belly, slow enough that Root could easily tap out, but her clit is  _ aching— _ worked up since she closed her mouth around Shaw’s nipple twenty minutes ago—and the mere touch of Shaw’s fingertips against Root’s trimmed pubic hair makes her groan, dragging her teeth over Shaw’s hipbone.

Shaw’s pussy is so soft and close to her face, smells so good, but Root just leans and breathes, too busy concentrating on the unfamiliar sensations, the intensity of a new experience, to want to multitask. 

Shaw gets fingers on her clit, pressing a little awkwardly with the angle, but enough to send a wave of fire washing through Root, demanding that she come, now, no more build up.

Shaw feels it, somehow, feels it in the shift of her body or the way she tenses, feels it and does her best to make it happen. She speeds up the movement of her tongue, lips, the press of her chin against Root’s entrance is suddenly more, giving Root something extra to grind against but she needs  _ now,  _ not in a few minutes, and she reaches down, squeezes Shaw’s fingers before taking over, rubbing hard and fast and perfect on her clit until she’s unravelling, clenching and tensing and biting down on the soft flesh of Shaw’s inner thigh, making her grunt but never stop the sweet, long licks that keep sparking heat through Root’s orgasm. 

Root topples off before she’s quite done, it was that or suffocate Shaw completely, and she doesn’t deserve that in a not fun way. She has the giggles, the light hearted floating kind of orgasm that makes you floppy and silly, pliant and weak. It’s embarrassing, or it would be if it wasn’t  _ Shaw  _ with her, whom she’s fucked to tears on more than one occasion. 

Shaw’s panting for air, her chest heaving, but she throws her arm down Root’s leg, her fingers just touching the curve of Root’s ass as she lies on her side. Root wants to touch her back, wants to reassure her, so she flops her hand weakly down and pats Shaw’s lightly. Shaw turns her hand over and tangles their fingers, and they lie there, holding hands until Shaw’s phone buzzes the alarm that means they need to start thinking about crawling out of bed and washing the jizz off. 


	37. You Should Put A Ring On It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some romo, but in Shaw's POV so hopefully not too gross :D

When they drag themselves out of bed and into a shared shower, Root’s clearly still feeling a little soft, a little needy. She’s touching Shaw more than she usually would, so Shaw makes an effort to make her body language more accessible. If Root needs the comfort then it’s on Shaw to provide it, until she can’t cause she’s too uncomfortable. 

There’s a lot of gentle kissing and stroking under the spray of water and while it makes Shaw want to grumble defensively, she doesn’t really mind. She doesn’t wanna hurt Root’s feelings if she’s vulnerable right now so she swallows down the disparaging comments she usually would let out to lighten the intimacy. She knows Root keeps a lid on her more touchy feely side a lot of the time, so this seems like a reasonable balancing act. Plus, sometimes Shaw needs a lot of petting after intense sex, so she knows what’s going on.

They get dressed in a hurry, cutting it pretty close on time, but managing to pile out the door without being late.    
  
John is gonna be walking from one side of the bridge, and the rest of the team need to get there first, set up the scene and guard it until they arrive, and then melt away so John and Harry can have a little privacy. 

Zoe has her big camera to capture the scene and Root is in charge of fetching the violin player so when they make it to the bridge, the two of them have to peel off. Root’s been walking close to her, so Shaw rolls her eyes and grabs her collar to yank her in for a kiss goodbye, making promises with her mouth that Root can hold on to through a little forced separation, the big baby.

Root’s starry-eyed and smiling when Shaw releases her though, so it’s worth the squee from Zoe who apparently has taken several pictures of the impromptu soppy make out session. 

Joss cocks her head at Shaw as they start walking out onto the bridge. They have about fifteen minutes before Harry and John should arrive and they really only have to put down the rose petals.

“Everything okay with you guys?” Joss inquires as they wander across the bridge. It’s stupidly gorgeous, a clear night showing a perfect crescent moon and stars twinkling faintly above the warm orange lights of the city.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, we’re good.” Shaw doesn’t think Joss wants to hear that they did a new thing in bed and now Root’s being a huge nerd, but she appreciates the check in anyway.

“Root seems a bit...” Joss stops at the centre of the bridge, looking out over the water without finishing her sentence.

Or maybe she does want to hear. “It’s a sex thing. We’re fine.” Shaw puts the bags down carefully and starts rummaging. “Here, you do the rose petals and I’ll be the bouncer.” She wishes they had some fancy velvet rope or something to hang because she’s pretty sure that people are gonna walk right over the rose petals. But they don’t have a rope, but once Harry and John arrive people will probably figure it out. Meanwhile, she’ll try to block people from marching right through the set up.

Joss clearly accepts the end of the conversation and snorts, taking the box of rose petals out of the bag. Shaw uses the rest of the bags to build a sort of useless barricade but as she hopes, people walk around it, looking interestedly to see what they’re doing.

Root and Zoe join them, violin player in tow. Zoe takes charge of putting the violin player on the opposite side of the bridge to the rose petals, which Joss has scattered in an artistic circle. Root gets the cold champagne out and sets it down carefully on the thick stone handrail, with the glasses tucked in next to it. It’s not a windy night, but she still sticks the bottom of the glasses down with something, like the smarty pants she is. Shaw kind of hopes it’s gum, just for the laughs.

Joss looks around. “Looks good, are we ready?” 

“Yeah, I think so!” Zoe snaps a few pictures of the set up, the city, and the violinist. “Selfie time!” 

Shaw begrudgingly allows herself to be pulled in for a quick fourway picture before squirming free, and picking up the bags. “They’ll be here any minute.”

The violinist obligingly starts playing, a haunting, melodic refrain that winds around the bridge, and Zoe yelps, pointing. “There they are, quick!” 

Shaw finishes grabbing the bags and gets dragged down the bridge a ways so they’re close enough to see but not to hear anything except the sweet notes coming from the violin. 

John and Harry crest the bridge, and John pulls his boyfriend to a halt. Shaw sees the exact moment Harry notices the rose petals, sees his whole face break into a huge, nervous looking grin when John drops to one knee. It tugs something in her, to see that kind of open happiness on someone’s face, makes her uncomfortable. 

She looks away, listening to the music, watching the water. Feeling the heat of Root close at her side. Hearing the click of Zoe’s shutter as she immortalises the moment. The water’s beautiful, sparkling with reflected light, showing the outlines of the buildings in the deep blue-black.

After a few minutes, Root leans over to breathe in her ear, making her shiver. “They’re done,” 

“He said yes?” 

“Looks like it,” Root gestures at the laughing boys, John pops the champagne as Shaw watches, and pours two overflowing glasses.

“Can we go over yet?” Zoe bounces, tugging on Joss’ arm like a child.

“Not until John gives us the nod... ah, there it is.” Joss rolls her eyes at Zoe, picking up the only bag with anything left in it, the four glasses for the rest of them to join the toast. 

Shaw had inquired as to why they were expected to a) be there at all and b) come celebrate right away, and been told by John that he wants to share the day with them and he’s sure Harry will too, so she only rolls her eyes a little bit when she says congratulations and gives them both a quick, one-armed hug before accepting a glass of fizz and raising it up while John makes a toast, with his voice cracking a little.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world. I have an amazing fiance, who understands me in ways I never thought anyone would, the best found family I could ask for, and I’m just so grateful that you’re all here and part of my life.” He chokes up a bit at the end, and Harry smiles up at him with open adoration all over his face. Shaw squashes the urge to make a barf noise, because she’s on a roll right now at being supportive and it seems a shame to ruin it. She’ll save it up for later. Oooh, she can tell John about the rimjob. The thought brings a smile to her face.

“Hear hear,” Joss clinks her glass against John’s and then they all clink, and everyone does a bit more hugging and admiring of the ring, and Shaw kind of settles herself against the bridge side, watching her ridiculous friends being ridiculous. After a few minutes, Root slopes over and leans her hip up next to Shaw, spinning her glass between her long fingers.

“You’re the best person,” she smirks, taking a sip.

“I know,” Shaw grumbles, “I should find out if he wants to party in Europe somewhere or when we get home.”   
  
“Naw, I meant. Generally. You’re just the Best Person.” Root bats her eyelashes, taking the weight out of it.

“Urgh,” Shaw grumbles, but she’s secretly a little bit pleased. Seeing Root’s expectant expression, she knocks back her drink and holds out her glass. “You’re acceptable, I guess. Now fetch me more champagne.”  
  
“Anything for you, dear,” Root drawls, before tugging Shaw’s hair lightly and wandering back to get the bottle from the noisy four.


	38. The Soup Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and by soup I mean plot
> 
> This is unbetaed because I wanted to post something today due to The Awful World. I only finished this yesterday. My poor beta has been doing an amazing job at dealing with my 'I'm gonna write 400 words today and then nothing for a week' current events while I struggle with other projects irl :D

Fortunately, they’re not that hungover the next day, having gotten giggly on the bridge, then splitting one more bottle in a fancy bar nearby before heading back to the apartment for more private celebrations. Except for Zoe, who found a handsome Parisian with a ridiculous moustache to celebrate with. She’s pretty hungover, and Joss reckons she didn’t get home until gone four. 

They’re pretty much rolling around on the floor/ bunk beds in various piles of pajama-clad disarray, John’s just looking at Harry with a ridiculous expression of wonderment on his face, Zoe’s curled up in Root’s lap while Root plays with her hair with one hand and flicks the pages on her kindle with the other. Shaw is next to them, on her phone, watching skateboard stunts on youtube and snorting disparagingly but she seems to be having fun which is the important part. Joss is on Root’s chromebook, and suddenly she sits up, banging it down onto the table loud enough to make Root wince.

“Sorry,” Joss apologises immediately, “Caleb’s calling, he’s found something.”

Everyone immediately stops what they’re doing, rearranges to see the screen as well as possible as Joss clicks accept on the hangouts call.

Zoe grumbles in complaint as she’s manoeuvred over so Root can see the screen, ends up with her head on Root’s shoulder, too hungover to engage properly but clearly not wanting to be left out.

“Hey,” Caleb’s face appears on the screen, he looks tired, like he’s been up all night, although Root realises it’s the evening for him. On Root’s left, Shaw shifts closer, puts her hand on Root’s thigh under the duvet.

Her heart rate is elevated, Root realises, she’s tense and leaning forward like she could drag Caleb through the screen by the lapels. Harry has grabbed his computer, opened it up, is sitting waiting to make notes with his hands hovering over the keyboard.

“What did you find?” Shaw asks, after a moment of everyone just sitting, waiting for someone else to speak.

“I have names.” Caleb rakes his long hair off his face, “Jeffery Blackwell, looks like an organiser of some kind, he’s been at every Young Artists Foundation Award since it was introduced under different aliases, and I pinged him on the deviantart activity recommending it to some of the competitors. Cyril Dvorak, out of the Czech, provided the funding through a series of shell companies. He’s also the money bags behind the scholarships, really clever set up, these guys have serious financial heft.”

“Well if we’re operating on the assumption that in exchange for a scholarship each of these young artists is being pushed to produce a few hundred million dollars worth of forged art, especially if we’re assuming that the Young Artists Award isn’t the only feeding tube...” Harry leaves the rest of the sentence for them to fill in, and Root nods in agreement.

“Yeah if it’s even one a year they’re turning over maybe six hundred million each time, plus whatever other avenues of income they probably have fingers in, as I doubt a scheme this slick is their first go on the criminal merry go round.”

Joss chews on her lip, “okay, so now what? Can we package that up now we have their names and hand it over to the cops?”

“Nothing I found is admissible,” Caleb shrugs, “I tried legal avenues first but nothing turned up. If we hand this over, the best we can hope for is that the cops look into it and try to find their own evidence.”

“They’ll bolt,” Zoe grumbles from in Root’s neck.

“They might even have people  _ in  _ the police force,” Shaw adds, “I would.” 

“So... what?” Joss asks, skeptically, raising an eyebrow at Shaw. 

“I don’t know. We keep looking. Now we know who they are we can catch them in the act or whatever, get some video recording from a webcam or something and then the police won’t be able to pass it off as inadmissible if it’s an admission of guilt.”

“I’ll send you what I have,” Caleb flicks his hair out of his face again, clearly a little agitated.

“Have you talked to Romeo?” Zoe interjects from her floppity position, “he’s a thief. Maybe he has an idea.”

“Maybe,” Caleb doesn’t sound too confident, and Joss wriggles out of the pile of people.

“He’ll send you the things he found, and now I’m going to talk to my boyfriend, if you heathens don’t object.”

“Send us the stuff before you get laid, Caleb,” Zoe teases, obviously recovering from her hangover enough to take the piss. 

Joss thwaps Zoe lightly on the butt, making her yelp, and picks up the chromebook, heading for the bedroom.

As advised, Caleb emails the stuff through and Harry and Root pour over it together while Zoe complains about Shaw wriggling too much and John makes breakfast for everyone.

Much to Root’s disappointment, she agrees with Caleb’s conclusions, everything they have is circumstantial at best. For lack of anything better to do, she starts digging into the two names they have, seeing if she can find anything Caleb missed. 

On a whim, she hacks his cellphone, looking for any incriminating messages or information, but either he’s the most careful man alive or he doesn’t use this phone for any of his criminal dealings. Disgruntled, she huffs and puts her computer down.

“Nothing.” She complains, and Harry nods, pursing his lips.

“I also haven’t found anything that could remotely be considered a smoking gun, as it were.” he sighs, scrubbing his hand through his hair. 

“How are they gonna sell the Starry Night if it’s still being exhibited at MOMA?” John asks, flipping an egg. “Like, wouldn’t whoever was gonna buy it be like, the real one is on display so this is obviously a forgery, I’m only paying a few grand for it?”

Silence spreads around the room, everyone looking at John, and then kind of at each other, with various expressions of “how the fuck did I not think of that?”

Root grabs her computer again and does a quick google, John’s right, the Starry Night is at the MOMA museum in New York. 

“That’s the wrong one,” Shaw leans her chin on Root’s shoulder, points at the screen, “the one Hanna copied is the second one. Look up where the other Starry Night is.” She’s right, Root realises, obviously right. The two paintings are very different.

Root obediently types ‘starry night van gogh’ and hits the image search, locating the swirling blue painting with the two figures standing in the foreground.

“Oh.” She snorts a little laugh. “So, it’s at the Musee D’Orsay.” 

“Are you fucking kidding?” Shaw groans, flopping back on the bed. 


	39. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Unfortunately, Shaw realises, Root is not fucking kidding. The Starry Night is indeed at the Musee D’Orsay, where it’s apparently been on display for several years now. 

“Is anyone else feeling extremely apprehensive about being in Paris now?” Shaw inquires, propping her feet up on the ‘roof’ of the bunkbed and pushing hard enough to make the top mattress heave.

“Oh,  _ shit, _ ” Root murmurs, clearly catching up to exactly where Shaw’s mind has gone—Jay, Jeffrey Blackwell, as they now know, is fully aware of who Root and Shaw are, and they didn’t exactly travel under aliases coming here. 

“What?” Zoe wriggles around, poking Shaw in the side, and John flops into the armchair opposite, running his hand over his face.

“Well... if I was the guy who sent someone to break into our apartment,” here Shaw waves at herself at Root, “in order to try to find my millions of dollars worth of forged art, I would be pretty suspicious of the fact that we just happen to be in Paris, where the original of said forged art is on display.” 

“ _ And _ Kelli said he was out of town now,” Root chimes in. “What are the chances in the history of our long array of shitty luck and somehow getting dragged into the weirdest of circumstances that he’s not under the impression we’re here to steal his fucking painting and sell the copies?”

“Why would we steal it?” Harry looks confused, like he doesn’t have quite the instinctive jumps that the others do.

“Because of what John said,” Zoe pulls a pillow over her face, and screams into it, making Shaw flinch and thwap her in the stomach.

“Because you can’t sell six forgeries of a famous piece of art, which we have, and he  _ knows  _ we have, without stealing the original so people believe each of the copies is the real one.” Shaw finishes Zoe’s explanation for her.

“He’d probably planned on stealing it himself, once he had the copies in hand. To places that don’t care too much about origin authentication... illegal collectors.” Root chimes in, groaning, “I have literally SEEN this fucking episode of Leverage I cannot believe how stupid I am.”

“The rest of us aren’t exactly doing much better,” Harry blinks owlishly behind his spectacles, “we have to go to the police.”    
  
“And tell them... that an art thief slash fence is probably in Paris right now, convinced that we’re about to steal a Van Gogh painting from the Musee D’Orsay, except we have no proof besides wild speculation?” Shaw grunts, hauling herself upright. “This is a fucking  _ mess. _ ”

“Do you think we’re in danger?” Zoe inquires, folding herself neatly around Root’s side and resting her head on Root’s shoulder. Root absently pets Zoe’s knee, and Shaw half smiles at how cozy they are. It’s extremely convenient, all things considered, because both Zoe and Root would rather Shaw was more cuddly than she is, but now they cuddle each other and Shaw doesn’t have to squirm away from them nearly as often. 

“Hard to know,” John licks his lips, eyebrows crunched in thought, “they won’t have been able to bring weapons over with them, but they presumably have ways of getting stuff here if their original plan was to steal the Starry Night at some point anyway. So they’d have needed equipment that would have been too suspicious to transport across from the States, right, which means they have contacts, and those contacts could definitely also include weapons links.”

“Can we find out how many of them came? Like, Kelli said that Jay was out of town, but we don’t know if he’s like... brought thirty henchmen.” Zoe chews her lip thoughtfully when she’s done speaking.

“But if it’s muscle he needs he’d just hire French muscle. Like the guns. No point in bringing people you don’t have to.” Shaw points out, waving a hand at Harry, “can you track Jay’s trip here? Maybe we can like... figure out where he is in the city and what he’s up to right now.”

“Maybe,” Harry sighs, his fingers dancing over the keys of his big laptop. 

Root shifts out from under Zoe, joins Harry with her massive laptop, and Shaw realises that they’ve lost the both of them to ‘research’ for a while. 

“Wanna go for a run?” She pokes Zoe in the side, looking at John expectantly.

He groans, “Ugh, I guess. I’ve put on like ten pounds this trip.”   
  
“I can tell,” Shaw declares gleefully, pulling up her tanktop and lifting herself with her tummy muscles, making them stand proud. “I have not.”

“You brought your training machine with you,” Zoe points out, and then leans over to bite Shaw’s exposed abdomen, making her squeal and squirm away cause it tickles. Root looks up at all the commotion, raises an eyebrow at them.

“Children, go and work off some energy, daddy and I have work to do.” She deadpans, and Shaw rolls her eyes just about hard enough to roll herself off the bed.

“I thought you were daddy?” Zoe blinks, doe-eyed, wriggling after Shaw who jumps out of the way of her grabby hands with a scowl. 

“Put some pants on, Morgan, you need to be run until you puke,” Shaw grumbles, sniffing her armpit cause she can’t remember if she deodorized this morning. It smells faintly of her preferred product and not at all like BO so she figures it will do. 

Joss declines to join them, still talking to Caleb. She has her clothes on but a goofy expression on her face when Zoe barges into the bedroom so Shaw can get her running gear.

It’s breezy outside, good running weather, and they do a decent 8k loop according to Zoe’s fit bit, stopping at the local grocery store on their way back to procure lunch.

As they dish up soup and fresh baguettes, Harry and Root fill them in on what has been discovered while they were out. Joss has been updated, it seems, and she’s sat at the dining room table, looking at Root’s screen. 

It transpires that Jeffrey Blackwell and one other man, although not Cyril, made the trip across the pond, landing in Paris just over a week ago, and they've been working on following his movements in the city. 

“Wait, he was in Paris before us? He flew straight here... when Kelli told us he was out of town,” Shaw points out. “So maybe he doesn’t even know we  _ are  _ here. Maybe he’s not here for us at all... Maybe he’s here for the painting.”   
  
“Well that’s it then,” Root breaks a baguette more violently than it probably needed to be done, “if he’s here for the painting, we set him up. Make sure he gets caught...Without getting involved ourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's late, I had a Breakthrough with my stupid novel and had to deal with that :) Should be on track for a Friday update though!


	40. Chapter 40

It’s agreed that Blackwell probably knows exactly what Shaw and Root look like, at least, but that the others might be less recognisable to him. All the same, they agree that until they can pin him down and figure out what his plan to steal the painting is, that everyone should lay low. With this in mind, Zoe orders a grocery delivery, enough to tide them over for a few days if they also get takeaway.

After working for a while with Harry on locating Blackwell in the city, eventually finding one of his aliases from the list Caleb sent checked into a hotel, they figure they need to make sure he’s really there so Harry hacks the hotel’s security and they set up a surveillance corner, taking it in turns to watch the screen for an hour in case he shows up. 

Trying to figure out his plan is going to be a whole ‘nother kettle of fish, and Root wonders if—even if they get into his hotel room somehow—there’ll be anything that even gives them a slight clue to go on. And really they need to know the whole plan because otherwise they won’t have anyway to set up a trap.

Harry concentrates on trying to get into Blackwell’s phone and computer, while Root crawls the darknet looking for ideas on how someone might plan to rip off the Musee D’Orsay.

She’s about six layers deep and no closer to anything solid when an idea hits her like a lightning bolt, and she swears and jumps to her feet, dialling rapidly on her phone.

“Jones?” She asks, as soon as the line connects.

“Who wants ta know?” An Australian accented voice inquires.

“Do you remember in twenty fourteen when you needed a hacker to help you through a certain Stirenko security system?” Root asks, holding her breath. She’s not sure this is the right number, or the right guy, not really, but the word on the darknet consistently touts Ezekiel Jones as the world’s foremost thief, and she has a hunch.

“So this is Root? I thought you were a bloke.” The chipper voice replies.

“Sexist,” Root smirks, winking at Shaw as she glares at Root, trying to figure out what’s going on. “Don’t worry, the line’s secure, you can speak freely. I need a favour.”

“What sort of favour?” He sounds suspicious, but not overly so.

“Well, I may have come into possession of a few copies of a very famous painting...but as it turns out I don’t know a lot about breaking into Museums. Care to talk me through it?” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then a snort. “Hypothetically, of course, what museum would you be aiming for?”

“Musee D’Orsay,” Root replies, poking Shaw in the tummy when she tries to get close enough to hear the voice on the other end of the handset.

“Ah, an interesting one. Alright, call it a brainteaser. You got a pen?”

“Sure.” Root grabs her chromebook off the side, folds it in half and heads for one of the bedrooms, “and I’ll owe you one.”

***

 

It takes almost three hours for Jones to run through the security features and how he would combat each of them. It’s an exhaustive conversation, and Root’s eyes feel itchy and sore by the end of it, but she has diagrams, notes, and a solid idea of what someone would need to do in order to get a painting out of the museum without setting off any of the multiple failsafe systems. 

She takes her chomebook back out to the group, stylus tucked behind her ear. “Alright team, I have the low down.”

***

Once everyone is filled in, John and Joss rustle dinner together while Root works with Harry on going through Blackwell’s computer—sadly, like the phone, there’s nothing good on there—Zoe watches the hotel security feed and Shaw alternates between situps and pushups in the corner of the room. Her sportsbra clad form is distracting enough that Root has to put her headphones on and face away lest she pull Shaw’s sweaty little body into the bedroom to give her a real workout. 

Everyone feels like they have done Very Well at working on the problem at hand by the time lasagna is served, and so they stick the Two Live Crew episode of Leverage on in order to really get into art heist mood while they eat.

Blackwell turns up at the hotel mid-episode, and everyone shares a smug grin. Now they know where he is currently, they can keep an eye on him more easily. 

“Do we need to tail him? Find out where he’s going and who he’s meeting?” John asks, around a mouthful of pasta.

“I’m not confident that any of us have a high enough ‘tailing’ skillset to be worth the risk,” Harry leans forward to wipe sauce off John’s lip as he’s speaking.

“It’d be great if we could get a mike on him, though,” Shaw points out, and Root smirks, typing a few commands into her computer and turning it so Shaw can see the slowly loading text.

“I’ve been recording him using his mobile since we pinned it down. I have a script running to type out the voice-to-speech. It’ll probably be a shaky translation but I’ll read through and see what’s worth actually listening to. The amount of time you spend listening to people going to the bathroom and jerking off if you just go straight for the audio...” She shivers dramatically and makes a ‘euch’ face to emphasis how horrible that is.

“Gross.” Zoe agrees, “sounds like a solid workaround. “I feel like we mostly just need a date and time?”

“I think... if we just get ready to go, we can pull it off as soon as they move, as long as it’s not tonight,” Joss puts her plate down carefully, “they definitely can’t do anything during opening hours, which gives us eight and a half hours a day when they’re  _ not  _ doing it. And we basically just need... a distraction for whoever is running their technical side, which has to be within fifty metres of the museum, according to Root’s friend. They have to be in a vehicle of some kind. Probably a van because what kind of criminal uses anything except a van? And then a way to shut them in the van after Root and Harry do their thing so they also get caught when the cops show up... six minutes after the alarm goes off. Right?”

“Right.” Shaw agrees. “So what would make you—a criminal in a van running extremely difficult technical support for an even more dangerous criminal—get out of your crime van?”

“It moving.” Harry says, thoughtfully, “if we could get it... towed, or anything like that.”

“Too complicated,” Joss shakes her head, “there’d be a towing company, or we’d have to rip off a towing company which I’m not cool with, and they’re not exactly gonna let us be like ‘okay now we need  _ our  _ guys to hop in the crime van real quick’.”   
  
“Good point,” Harry frowns. 

“What about it rocking?” Root steeples her hands in front of her. “Like, say, if John was to throw someone up against it repeatedly.”

“Like a fight?” John asks.

Root snickers, “I was thinking like vigorous sex, but sure, like a fight. They’d probably be worried the police would get called for  _ that _ ."

“They might be worried... but would they come out to yell at someone John’s size throwing a small woman around?” Shaw shakes her head, “cause it’d have to be me to take the hits. And that would look super fucked, like, don’t want to get involved kind of fucked. I wouldn’t wanna take down someone John’s size without a weapon and that seems like an unnecessary risk. I'd just work through it and hope for the best, or go out with a gun to scare 'em off if I thought there was time before they called the cops on me. Better keep it like, we’re doing something he can shout at us and we’ll move on from.” 

“Vigorous sex it is,” Zoe snickers, “but wait, who’s gonna take down the dude coming out of the van if Shaw and John are busy fake boning against it?”   
  
Shaw snorts. “Well... looks like you just volunteered for the fake boning portion of the evening. I’ll jump him as soon as he opens the door? If there’s two of them we should know, and then... I guess Joss and Zoe should fake bone so John can give me a hand.”   
  
“The wild dream,” Zoe flops sideways, kicking her feet.

“Hmmm,” Joss gives Zoe a dead-eyed look and Zoe bats her eyelashes at her in reply, making Root laugh softly. 

They spend the rest of the evening trading off watching the security feeds, Blackwell leaves once, gets food at a restaurant down the street with a short, blonde woman who meets him there, and then he heads back to the hotel for the night. 

Neither Root or Harry can figure out a way to watch Blackwell’s door without actually  _ watching _ , __ so they divide the night up into hour and a half shifts. Shaw, being the most talented sleeper gets nominated to take the two thirty till four slot, with John agreeing to get up at four to relieve her and crashing again afterwards, and Harry, always an early bird, taking the five thirty. That leaves Joss, Root and Zoe playing rock paper scissors for the eleven thirty—which is fast approaching—one a.m and seven a.m shifts. Root lucks out and gets the morning shift, much to her glee. 

The team breaks for their various rooms, leaving Zoe on the sofa with the chromebook showing the hotel monitor on half the screen, and an episode of the Office playing on the other.

Root drags Shaw into bed as quickly as possible, both of them finding the energy for a quick round of orgasms before they fall asleep, alarm set for Shaw’s shift. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special guest star, Ezekiel my fine young son Jones from the Librarians


	41. I Recommend Vigorously Slapping the Sidepanel

Shaw idly scrolls tumblr on her phone, making sure to keep an eye on the security feed from the hotel. She’s pretty bored, but she feels pretty focused and like her concentration is good. She’s sat at the small table to one side of the apartment, leaving Root alone in the bedroom so she doesn’t disturb her. 

Zoe and Joss are sleeping soundly, the rhythmic susurration of their breathing the only sound except for the occasional engine outside. 

When Blackwell opens his door, Shaw actually jumps, almost dropping her phone.

“Shit, guys, wake up!” She raises her voice, hastily putting the computer down on the table and making a dash for the bedroom door. 

She slams a hand against Harry and John’s door before rushing into her room, “Root, wake up, he’s moving.”   
  
“What?” Root sounds groggy, and then sits up, pulling her eye mask off. “Fuck, really?” She scrambles out of bed, and Shaw pauses in pulling black jeans on for a second because Root’s naked and it’s very distracting. 

Root rolls her eyes, which snaps Shaw out of the momentary freeze, and grabs some sweats off the floor, then hooks a bra on quickly and turns around for Shaw to fasten it, which she does without missing a beat, yanking her own hoodie on over her head right after.

“What’s going on?” Harry’s muzzy voice comes from outside the door and Shaw yells back.

“Blackwell’s moving, time to go.” 

“We’re not ready!” Joss sounds a bit fraught, but Shaw can hear her moving, and it’s John that replies.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s now or never. Even if we can’t be as clever as we hope, we can still call the cops on them.”

“Maybe we should just call the cops now, fuck.” Zoe clearly bumps into something mid-sentence and then the living room light comes on, streaming through the bedroom door. Shaw pulls socks on, and jogs into the main room.

“Nah, we got this. It’s not even like it’s especially dangerous. It’s an art heist, not a drug deal.” She shoves her feet into her boots, bouncing. “We just need something to trap the techie in their vehicle, other than that we’re good to go. The bad guys are gonna be inside a very secure building the whole time, except the nerd. We can take a nerd out.”

“Yeah, cause our entire plan revolves around me and Harry being able to figure out the museum’s security, override their override and drop the hammer at exactly the right time.” Root doesn’t sound super confident, but she’s putting her shoes on.

Shaw leans up and plants a kiss on her cheekbone. “You’re a genius, it’ll be fine. And like... worst case scenario we can’t get in the van in the first place so we just lock them in there and handcall the police.”

“How are we locking them in?” Joss zips up her leather jacket, looking very tough with her hair up and her all black ensemble. Shaw gives an approving nod, and John bundles out of the bedroom and grabs his boots, sitting down on a stool to yank them on.

“Ducttape.” He says, confidently.

“What?” Shaw is inching towards the front door, itching to go. Root is typing on her phone and putting headphones on, presumably getting ears on Blackwell.

“Ductttape,” John repeats, standing up, and when Shaw glances around they’re all good to go. “Trust me, I got the keeping them in the van part covered. I’ll meet you on the corner. Get a taxi and wait.” Without further comment he pushes past Shaw and opens the door, jogging down the stairs to their apartment without looking back.

Shrugging, Shaw grabs Root’s arm and points her towards the door, following her out. Excitement is all tingly in her blood, and she realises, not for the first time, that this sort of thing gets her hot, turns everything up a notch and makes her  _ feel  _ more. 

They all bundle down the stairs together in silence, like no one can really believe what they’re doing. Shaw thought they’d have a couple of days, at least, to keep planning, but if Blackwell is planning on robbing the museum tonight, that means they have to go now. It’s their only shot at bringing him to justice, even if not specifically for Hanna’s murder.

She’s idly wondering how much jail time you get for major art theft when Root starts filling them in on what she can hear. “Okay, he’s with two people, a woman, Val, and a man, Bouchard, must be local talent. They’re pretty quiet, keeping talking to a minimum but I can hear traffic and an engine so I think they’re driving.”

Joss has managed to get a taxi to pull over, big enough for six, and they pile in, Zoe asking the driver to wait for the last member of their group in smooth French. 

John comes barrelling around the corner holding a broom and a large plastic bag, and climbs into the front seat with a flashing grin at them all.

Shaw hopes Zoe is doing a good job coming up with a story for why they’re getting a taxi across town at three a.m, but Zoe is an excellent liar so Shaw’s not really worried. She just wants to get there, get it all started. 

The journey is fairly uneventful. Root stays listening in but presumably doesn’t hear anything worth sharing, and Harry is reading frantically on his notebook computer, probably familiarising himself with the security systems or something. Zoe keeps chatting with the driver, sounding very chill and relaxed.

Joss catches Shaw’s eye, and winks, mouthing, “we’re getting good at this,” at her and Shaw snorts in reply.

They are, though, there’re bonds of trust here built over different circumstances, that everyone’s doing what they’re supposed to be doing, that everything will get done, and that they’ll look after each other if anything goes awry. 

The taxi glides to a halt a few blocks down river from the Museum, if Shaw’s got her mental map of Paris right, and Zoe hands over some cash with a wink and a grin for the driver. 

“The museum cameras just jumped,” Harry mutters, walking along with his computer open in one hand and looking pretty noticeable and weird. 

“They’re getting ready,” Root replies, frowning at her phone. “Cameras, then motion detectors, then lasers, then the exhibit sensors, that’s what Jones said.”

“So we’re late?” Zoe picks up the pace, grabbing JC’s arm to make her go faster. They’re approaching the museum’s carpark now, the water spooling out on their right in dark and sparkling patches.

“Nope, right on time,” Root flashes a grin, “we should wait here for a minute, figure out our approach. Jones reckons it’ll take them thirty minutes to get in from when they hook the cameras. But whoever’s in the van, I assume the woman from the conversation they’ve been having, has the cameras now which means if go in they’ll see us. We need to send our distraction in on the main path to the parking lot and the rest of us sneak around back, wriggle through the hedge I guess.”

“I have good news and bad news,” Harry breaks in. “The good news is that an unmarked black van just turned into the lot. The bad news is that there’s extensive camera coverage in there, and they’ve parked right in full camera view. It’s really clear. A fake fight, or fake...” he pulls a slight face of distaste, “sex is going to have to be very convincing.”

“Are you... saying I have to make out with Zoe?” John sounds a bit desperate for the answer to be ‘no’. 

“Yikes, there’s no way we’d pull that off,” Zoe shake’s her head, “not with him having to slam me around a bit to make the van notice, he’s way too polite and I’d die laughing.”

“I’m not sure I even know how to make out with someone that violently,” Joss interjects dryly, and Root twitches an eyebrow at Shaw, who realises what everyone is implying at the same time.

“Urgh, fine. Zoe, looks like it’s you and me round... three.” 

“This time with added intrigue!” Zoe snickers, bumping Root’s shoulders, “any tips?”  
  
“Yeah, be loud so the techie doesn’t notice us jacking their systems,” Root replies dryly, “I’d recommend slamming your hand rhythmically into the side panel.”


	42. Is That A Broom and Twelve Rolls Of Ductape in Your Pocket?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: fake bangs

It only takes a minute to check that everyone knows what they’re doing—Shaw and Zoe to distract, John to take the tech down before she can get a warning out to the thieves in the museum, Joss keeping lookout on the actual road from down the street- the route the cops have to come down- and Harry and Root wriggling through the hedge, ready to jump in the van. 

Zoe and Shaw are going to walk through the carpark like they’re drunk and looking for a place to fuck, so Root kisses Shaw goodbye swiftly, a fast, bruising kiss that makes Shaw inhale sharply and dig her fingers into Root’s hip. 

Harry has camera access now, and he’s so busy watching the screens that John has to steer him, leaving Root to find a good spot to wriggle through the hedgerow. They want to be close to the van so John doesn’t have far to creep, but not so close that they’ll be immediately obvious. 

She finds a spot she thinks will work, the branches less tightly woven. It’s still a crawl on the stomach job though, and she grimaces as she stuffs her phone in her pocket, glances at the road to check there’s no one coming, and drops to her knees.

The branches are tough and wiry, poking her uncomfortably, and she’s smeared with mud when she makes it through, crouched in the dark behind a delivery van of some kind, six spaces down from the black van in question.

The boys pass John’s massive weird bag first, which Root peeks in and sees holds a dozen or so rolls of duct tape—he was serious, it seems. Then the broom, which Root doesn’t understand at all is poked through—maybe John wants it for hitting the van tech—and finally the laptop bag which Root immediately opens and uses as a stand for the computer, taking over feed-watching while the boys wriggle through with some difficulty. 

Harry’s head pokes through first, his hair wild and dishevelled, with little leaves caught in it. Root squirms down the side of the van a little, trying to make sure she’s blocked from camera sight on the computer at the same time.

There’s thirty two feeds cycling through in eights: she can see two men in one of the rooms, and her heart skips a beat as she spots them. This is it, for real, this man had something to do with Hanna’s death and he’s here, breaking into a museum. She can’t get stuck on that though, so she flicks her attention to the carpark, which is dark and still in the image. 

Just as John pops out of the hedgerow next to Root, Zoe and Shaw enter the side of the picture, staggering in fake-drunk style, holding hands and jostling each other. 

Harry whispers ‘get ready, John’, and John eases down as far as he can without being noticeable on the screen, ready to sprint for the van as soon as the door opens. 

Zoe tugs Shaw in against her, slamming back first into the back door of the van with a sound loud enough to reverberate in the still night air. She smirks, imagining the tech swearing and wondering what to do, hoping they’ll just leave. 

On the tiny screen, Shaw drags Zoe round to the side of the van and shoves her up against it, but Zoe flips them so she has Shaw pinned, making a lot of noise in the process. The van door doesn’t open, though, and Zoe and Shaw clearly decide more effort has to be put in, cause Zoe twists Shaw around, shoving her face first against the van with a loud bang. Shaw cries out, Root can’t even tell if she’s faking, and slaps her palm against the metal, yelling. “Fuck, yeah, right there, shit, ohmygod,” in a dramatic and—from Root’s perspective—unrealistic impression of her getting nailed.

It takes like five more minutes of enthusiastic yelling and banging before the door opens and a figure leaps out, shining a torch right at the struggling girls. But John is already moving, and he’s on top of the person before they get a word out, slapping his large hand over their mouth as planned, so nothing gets commed through to the thieves. Root flicks her eyes across to the internal cameras—they’re currently pulling a painting down from the wall, one man on each side of the medium sized frame. 

Stumbling to her feet, she runs for the van; they’re running out of time and it has to be  _ perfect.  _ Harry follows her as quickly as he can, and John has the blonde lady from the bar pinned face down on the floor, and Shaw deftly scoops the woman’s dropped comm up and passes it to Root, who grabs it smoothly and pops it into her ear as she hops into the van, dropping into the bolted down chair and hovering her fingers over the keys in front of the six screens. If the men try to contact their tech over the comms, it’s on Root to cover for them and buy time.

The men are still inside, thank goodness, and it only takes Root a second to take in the array of tech in front of her. Harry clambers into the van after her and leans over the setup, swiftly figuring out what links to what. Her silicone gloves are sticking to the keys, making it harder to work, but she gets the hang of it in seconds and finds a rhythm. 

They work in silence, each with their own task, and Root can feel the sweat beading on her forehead as she overrides their override, syncing with Harry and waiting until he nods before entering her string of commands.

For a long, elastic second, nothing happens, and then the screens explode with information, motion detectors on—triggered, local law enforcement alerted. Six minutes eta. Harry blacks the parking lot camera out completely as soon as he’s regained control over them, leaving the rest to record the panicked figures of the two men inside as security gates slam down in every doorway, trapping them like mice in a cage, with the stolen painting abandoned at their feet.

They take one of their precious remaining minutes to render the tech unusable by yanking out all the cables they can find and slicing them off with a knife. They’re hoping that to the police, it will look as though a fourth team member screwed over the group and did a runner. 

Then they’re piling out of the van, and Shaw throws the tech back inside; she lands with a grunt of pain, still conscious, but they slam the doors on her before she can try to jump out, and her small frame is no match for Shaw and Zoe and Root holding the door shut, as John fumbles with his bag.

It takes Root a second to figure out what he’s doing and then she puts it together. The rolls of ducctape slide onto the broom handle, he slaps the sticky ends against the side of the van, and then runs around, dragging the broom in both hands and unfurling ducctape in a shiny banner behind him. He gets dizzy after five loops, and Shaw takes over, leaving him to lean against the straining door, but it only takes ten before the doors aren’t even budging, even though they can hear the thudding of flesh hitting the metal as the van tech struggles to get out.

“Thirty seconds,” Zoe gasps, looking at her wristwatch, and Shaw runs out of ducctape just as Root grabs her arm to leg it. They sprint for the far exit, the one furthest away from where the cops will be arriving, shoving the laptop and gloves haphazardly into the now empty plastic bag, the broom still leaning up against the van. Root hopes Shaw pulled her sleeves down before grabbing it, but John had given them all a thorough talk about fingerprints before they left, and any other bodily residues on site should be lost in the millions of visitors leaving hair and fibers all over the gravel. 

Joss is waiting on the corner, and sirens split the air behind them as the police vehicles spin into the parking lot, less than two hundred meters away. 

  
The team casually avoids the four street cameras they’d marked out during the previous planning session, and saunter away down the road, crossing the Pont Royal and heading into the large gardens outside the Louvre, well away from any street cameras.


	43. You Ain't Never Had Friends Like These

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: bangs in the exposed and outside world, marked with a rule. Vanilla bangs though.

They’re all a little breathless and giggly as they shuffle down the shadowy pathways of the large gardens, the river on their left. In the distance, Shaw can faintly make out the flashing blue lights of the emergency vehicles pulled in around the Museum. Because the thieves have been trapped inside the motion detector security gates, the Team thinks it’s likely that the police will be slower to set up a perimeter. 

Their cover story—on the extremely small chance that they will need one—is that they spent the evening in the gardens and missed the last metro back to their apartment in Volontaires, leaving them with some time to kill before they start again at five thirty a.m. The mud down their clothing can be explained away by rolling around in the gardens earlier, and between Zoe and Root who have both the French and the lying skills at their disposal, the team is feeling pretty good about their chances of getting away clean.

Even if they  _ did  _ get caught, it’s pretty unlikely they’d have to do any jail time or anything, since all they did was bring a bit of vigilante justice to some art thieves, which there should be little evidence of if it came to a jury. Root has good lawyers, anyway.

Shaw’s all juddery and tingly in the wake of the adrenaline that’s been flooding her bloodstream for the last hour. She has bruises on her hipbones throbbing demandingly from where Zoe slammed her into the van, and she’s feeling... pent up, to say the least. She wishes they were on the train already, or even better, at home, so Root could work the energy out of her.

Zoe inhales sharply as Root drapes an arm over her shoulders, and Root’s eyebrow twitches, looking thoughtful. 

Slightly ahead, John flops down on a convenient bench, throwing his head back with a wide grin. “Well, I’d say that couldn’t really have gone any better.”

“Seems like it,” Joss agrees, although with slightly less wild enthusiasm, sitting down next to John while Harry leans a hand on the back of the bench. 

“I must say, it all came together quite smoothly, especially if you take into account how little time we had to plan.” Harry has a small, self-satisfied grin on his face. 

Shaw bounces on her toes, not wanting to sit down, but knowing they have time to kill. Maybe she should go and run some kata.

Zoe ducks out from Root’s arm and does a completely unexpected but very well executed cartwheel, and then brushes her hands off on her thighs. “Okay, we are amazing, that was amazing, I’m having so much fun, you guys!”

Root snickers at her antics, sidling over to Shaw and slipping her hand in Shaw’s back pocket, squeezing gently and making Shaw grit her teeth to keep from gasping. 

Root gives her a knowing look, leans down to murmur in her ear. “You need some help with that, lover?” 

Shaw looks at her appraisingly, wondering if Root is offering to fuck her in the gardens, and Root smirks, jerking her head at the path back the way they came. Well, if it’s on the table... Shaw nods, feeling heat flush her face and pool between her legs.

“We’ll be back in a minute,” Root announces brazenly, and uses her handhold on Shaw’s butt to pull her in the right direction. 

“I’m surprised you managed to wait this long,” Joss remarks dryly, while Zoe flops on her back on the grass with a groan.

The park is dark and silent, appropriately quiet for four forty five in the morning. They’re not in the main grounds, those are locked down, but the narrow section they’re in that runs parallel to the river is lit only sporadically, and it’s fairly easy to find a tree thick enough to provide a little cover. 

* * *

 

“Fuck, I got so hot listening to you, Sameen,” Root mutters, pushing Shaw back against the tree trunk with a dull thud, Shaw’s shoulderblades taking the brunt of the impact. Shaw leans her head back against the wood and grabs Root’s hips, tugging her forward until she’s pressed hot and solid against Shaw. 

Root grunts approval, slots her leg between Shaw’s and pushes against her, breathing hot against Shaw’s cheekbone before leaning down to kiss her.

Shaw can’t help moaning into the kiss. It feels so fucking good, Root’s soft tongue swiping over Shaw’s lower lip until she opens for her, arching up with her body against Root’s hard thigh.

They have to be quick, obviously, and Root’s already tugging on Shaw’s belt, opening her jeans, before Shaw’s really caught up. The brush of Root’s fingers against the naked skin of her belly makes Shaw clench in anticipation, far beyond ready, throbbing and aching and desperate.

“Fuck, Root,” she breathes out as Root wriggles her hand down into Shaw’s jeans, scratching lightly through her pubes and then pushing lower.

“Mmm, Zoe got you all worked up.” Root bites down on Shaw’s throat lightly, and she doesn’t sound angry or annoyed, she sounds turned on—one of Shaw’s favourite things about Root is that she doesn’t lie to Shaw about sex stuff. She says what she means, or at least she doesn’t say stuff she doesn’t mean, even if Shaw sometimes has to figure out the underlying emotion, Root’s always been straightforward with her and Shaw doesn’t ever feel worried that she's misunderstanding her. 

Root drags her fingers through the copious wetness waiting for her, slides easily over Shaw’s clit, pulling back on the soft skin and sending sparks colliding through Shaw’s belly, her knees weakening momentarily as her head thumps against the tree trunk and she looks up, through the black branches at the coronaed stars. 

A hot tongue traces up the tendon in her neck and Shaw digs her fingers into Root’s ass, for lack of anything else to hold on to, as Root dips down and cocks her wrist, slides into her slow and perfect, and somehow not at all awkward even though Shaw can feel how tight her jeans are over Root’s wrist. 

Root twists her fingers, grinding her palm into Shaw’s clit and Shaw groans quietly, trying to swallow it, feeling herself tighten around Root’s fingers. “It seems like a shame she doesn’t get to reap the spoils,” Root breathes into her ear, “I feel like we should ask her to come play with us.” And Shaw comes with a shuddery exhale, pulsing on Root’s fingers as she teases them gently over Shaw’s gspot, clearly savouring the sensations.

When Shaw is done, just breathing heavily, Root eases her hand out of Shaw’s jeans and wipes off on her leg, half holding Shaw up until she gets her weight back on her feet, sliding down the tree a little and blinking contentedly.

“Mm, I’m game if you are,” Shaw manages to stand properly, and wrinkles her nose as she does her jeans up, not enjoying the feeling of wet underwear and tight jeans against her sensitive bits. “Probably have to buy the team a cake though.”

Root snickers, tucking a lock of hair behind Shaw’s ear and moving back a little, admiring her openly and making Shaw look away from her heavy eyed gaze. “We could just go to a hotel.”

“Eh, it’s five in the morning... Don’t we just want to work some steam off and then collapse?” Shaw inquires, stepping forward and dragging her fingertips gently over Root’s stomach, eliciting a full body shiver.

“Seems rude, though.” Root demurs, pressing into Shaw’s touch.

“How is it any ruder than when the two of us bang in the house? No one really cares, and if they do, they’ll get over it. We’ll be quiet like good people. Should I text Zoe?”

Root snorts. “Yeah, we should probably check she even wants to join before making plans.”

Shaw smirks, reluctantly removing her hand from Root’s tummy so she can fumble her phone out, a little clumsy.

Shaw @ Zoe // do you wanna come and bang us/ be banged when we get home? //

Zoe @ Shaw // goddess yes i thought i was gonna have to rub one out in that ridiculous bathroom //

Shaw @ Zoe // sweet. also probs if you need to jerk it in general you can borrow our room //  
  
Zoe @ Shaw // you guys are the best friends a girl could ask for //


	44. Bite Chunks Out Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some jokes before the bangs, so there's a rule for you if you wanna read the beginning. Joss is p funny so I'd recommend.
> 
> Did I include biting just so I could continue to name everything after lyrics from Tessellate? I don't even know anymore.
> 
> Content warning: vanilla chill threesome, very good friends, cozy making, oral, digital penetration, strapon bjs, two person giving strapon bjs, biting, its pretty low key if you're fine with three people fucking there shouldn't be anything Dramatic

Dawn is fully underway by the time the metro gates get unlocked, and Joss gives Root a knowing look when she sits down next to Zoe on the tube, knocking their knees together. Root—momentarily concerned that Joss is bothered about them hooking up with Zoe—gives Joss a questioning look. But Joss rolls her eyes and flaps her hand in the air like ‘yeah yeah, you guys do what you gotta do,’ and it seems like she’s okay with it. 

The boys, unsurprisingly, seem totally oblivious, and head straight for their bedroom when they stumble back into the apartment.

Once the door’s shut behind Harry and John, Joss points at the three of them in turn, Zoe getting water from the tap, Shaw still taking her boots off, and Root hovering in the doorway to the bathroom. “Fair warning... if you guys act like alley cats, expect to be treated like them,” she says sternly, but with a reassuring twinkle in her eyes.

“What?” Shaw inquires, finally getting her boots free and kicking them off with a clatter that makes Root smirk.

Joss points at the bedroom. “Put some music on, I will put earplugs in, and if you wake me up through both of those things I’m gonna come in there and hose you down.”

“Seems fair,” Root agrees easily, leaning in the doorframe. “I’ll keep them quiet.”   
  
“Like I’ve never heard  _ you  _ screaming,” Joss scoffs playfully, flopping down on her bed and wriggling out of her jeans. 

Root snorts a little, heat flaring in her cheeks, and ducks into the bathroom.

* * *

 

By the time she gets to the bedroom, Zoe and Shaw are in their undies, making out on the bed, with Zoe pressed up against Shaw’s side and the curtains open enough to let the golden dawn light spill over them.

It’s hot, makes Root narrow her eyes and lick her lips, the sight of Zoe with her leg flung over Shaw’s, propped on one arm and leaning down over Shaw, her hand wrapped lightly around Shaw’s throat. 

Root shuts the door quietly and starts pulling her clothes off, not stopping at undies but getting all the way naked, and clicking some music on on her phone before leaving it by the door and sliding onto the bed behind Zoe.

Root presses full body up against Zoe, stroking her hand down Zoe’s side and cupping her ass firmly. Zoe breaks the kiss, twists over to kiss Root, and Shaw squirms closer behind her, rubbing against the back of Root’s hand. 

They’re all grinding against each other, breathing heavily, and Shaw hooks her arm over Root’s thigh, digging her fingertips in and holding Root even harder against Zoe. 

“You still wanna try the feeldoe?” Root pulls away from Zoe’s mouth to ask, pushing on them both a little until Zoe’s lying on her back, and Root picks up Shaw’s hand, guides it to Zoe’s panties and drops it there. Shaw exhales harshly, and Zoe lets out a little groan as Shaw rubs her through her underwear. 

“Yeah, if everyone’s on board,” Zoe breathes out, rolling her hips up into Shaw’s hand. Root hums approval, pushing her bra out of the way so she can lean over and suck on one of Zoe’s nipples—gently, cause she remembers how Zoe likes it.  

Because she’s highly skilled, Root reaches around Shaw without looking and unclips her bra, shoving the clasps out of the way so she can splay her hand on Shaw’s warm, strong back, holding her closer. 

Shaw shifts in, wriggles out of her bra completely and then returns her hand to its previous occupation, gently rubbing Zoe through her undies. Root feels them kiss, Zoe shifting sideways slightly to reach down for Shaw’s mouth, and Root slides her hand down until she can reach over the curve of Shaw’s ass and push up against her panties. The cotton’s soaked with Shaw’s arousal and Root hides her groan of pleasure in the soft curve of Zoe’s breast.

“Full offense, but if you guys are taking it slow for me, please don’t.” Zoe mumbles into Shaw’s mouth. “I am extremely good to go and do not need to be foreplayed like a teenager.” 

Root snorts, nipping her gently in remonstration, but agreeing with the sentiment. It’s more that she hasn’t thought about how it will go, and so she doesn’t have a plan, but hey, they can start anywhere and figure it out.

“Shaw, grab the feeldoe, the wipes are in the little silk bag with the condoms.” She figures no one wants to trudge through the living room to clean sex toys right now. 

Shaw obediently stops kissing and touching, although exhaling with a long, drawn out sigh that sounds pretty sad about it, and Root takes advantage of the space to grab Zoe’s panties and pull them down to her knees, leaning over her hipbone and opening her mouth against Zoe’s pubic mound.

“Oh,” Zoe gasps hotly, and Root grins against her, pushing her tongue gently into the warm, tight space. Zoe manages to kick her panties off and get her legs open though, so Root snugs in closer, essentially upside down on the bed, and sets about getting  Zoe to make some more noises.

Fuck, Root likes pussies a lot. She spends so much time with her face in Shaw’s she forgets how different the noises people make are, how different the taste is. It’s hot and soft and wet under her tongue, she can’t reach all the way down but she brings her hand over to provide backup, stroking fingertips over Zoe’s entrance gently and teasing her clit with her tongue and lips. 

The mattress dips as Shaw climbs back on; Root hears the rip of condom packets and then Shaw’s pressing into Zoe’s side again, sliding her hand into Root’s hair gently and scratching her head. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Zoe breathes quietly as Root shifts her weight and pushes gently inside. She makes a little pleased noise at the feel of Zoe’s inner muscles squeezing on her fingers, the encouraging lift of Zoe’s hips into her mouth. 

Shaw shifts, and Root glances upwards to see she’s put the feeldoe down on the bed and is making out with Zoe again, their mouths colliding aggressively, totally at odds with the gentle, soft pressure of Shaw’s fingers curving around Root’s head. 

Root grins against Zoe’s clit, sucks it into her mouth and scrapes her teeth over it gently, curling her fingers and rubbing until she finds the spot that makes Zoe’s stomach tense and her hand on Root’s shoulder squeeze.

Zoe doesn’t last very long under a full assault, her breathing broken and hitching into Shaw’s mouth, their kiss frenzied and messy as Root fucks her with even, deep strokes until Zoe shudders and comes, half sitting up on the bed and folding her hand over Shaw’s, holding Root’s mouth against her until she melts backwards, clearly momentarily spent. 

Root sits up and swipes the come off her nose with a satisfied grin. Shaw’s snugged against Zoe’s side, grinding unashamedly, kissing Zoe’s neck while she comes down. It’s really cute, Root thinks, that everyone is so comfortable. The last threeway they had was pretty epic in scale, and right now clearly wasn’t going to be in a similar vein, but Shaw relaxing into the situation, making decisions and doing what she wants is pretty fucking adorable, as well as sexy. 

But between fucking Shaw against a tree and having Zoe come all over her face, Root is feeling like she needs to get off immediately, now please, before they move on any further. “Hey, Zo, any interest in watching Shaw suck me off?” She inquires, flopping back onto the pillow and running her hand down between her legs. She’s soaked, throbbing, and the touch of her fingers makes her gasp, arousal hitting her full force where she’d been squashing it down just a bit. 

“Uh, sure,” Zoe mumbles, with her eyes still closed, stroking her hand down Shaw’s flank. “Sounds lovely.”

Shaw swallows and slides off the bed without further instruction, grabbing Root’s twostrap and her favourite blowjob dick, setting it up for her as she knee walks back onto the bed and offers it to Root to put her feet through. 

Between them they get the harness up and settled into place, and Shaw wastes no time in wriggling onto her stomach, dragging fingers between Root’s legs, idly playing with her wetness as she uses her other hand to hold the dick before wrapping her lips around the head. Root tries really, really hard not to come immediately, and seeing the flash of warm satisfaction on Shaw’s face helps her get control over herself, pushing her approaching orgasm back. 

Zoe reenergises enough to wriggle over, resting her head on Root’s chest and toying with her nipples as Shaw swallows her down, eyes closed and eyebrows a little furrowed in concentration. Root clenches hard at the dual sensations and the sight of it, and Shaw rubs slowly over her entrance as she presses down and pulls back up a bit, licking slowly at the head, her tongue pink and soft looking.

Tentatively, Zoe reaches down Root’s body, slow enough that either Root or Shaw could grab her hand if they wanted to. She wraps fingers around Shaw’s at the base of the dick, strokes her thumb against Shaw’s cheek, and more heat sparks through Root, coiling through her stomach and settling low and desperate in her groin as she lifts her hips up eagerly, making Shaw flinch back a little. She’s not gonna last long.

Shaw’s asking if she wants penetration with her fingers, so Root reaches down and single taps her shoulder, and Shaw slides into her slowly, fullness sparking thick, white hot pleasure through Root’s whole body making her groan and arch, so close she can taste it already, swirling in the back of her throat. 

She relaxes fully into the pillows, half closing her eyes, watching Shaw’s clever mouth work up and down her dick, feeling her eager fingers rub clever and confident at her insides, and then Zoe’s shifting down the bed and suddenly there’s two mouths on her, and Shaw and Zoe are kissing  _ around  _ Root’s dick.

Zoe reaches up for Root’s breasts with her free hand, both of them pushing down a little on the base of Root’s cock, and Shaw licks up the length of her while Zoe closes her mouth around the head and Root’s coming, clenching down and groaning, trying to be quiet as Shaw works her through it with careful strokes inside.

Shaw shifts back, off her dick, and grins up at her with a cheeky expression, nosing into the curve of her thigh. “Should I take this off or are you planning on shoving it in one of our asses while we use the feeldoe?” She sounds very, very smug. 

In response, Root wakes up enough to pull her hair, startling a yelp out of her. Zoe wriggles around enough to stroke gentle patterns on Root’s thigh, seemingly content to wait there to find out what’s up next. 

“Naw, I’m gonna sit on your face,” Root demurs, letting go of Shaw’s hair to undo the harness clips. 

Shaw’s face softens, she swallows compulsively and nods. “Okay, yeah, good,” it’s not quite babble, but it’s enough to make Zoe giggle, worming back up the bed and grabbing the condom wearing feeldoe. 

“Didn’t sound like she was asking to me,” Zoe snickers, holding the dick up to eye-level “so... this end goes inside me?” She waggles the bulb and Root nods, squirming into more of a sitting position.

“Yeah. Shaw, help Zoe,” she instructs, still getting her breath back.

The noise Zoe makes when Shaw helps her push the feeldoe into place shakes most of her orgasm induced lethargy off, and she wriggles closer, wrapping her hand around the feeldoe and clicking the vibrations on, choosing a slow, throbbing setting.

Zoe moans low and deep in her chest, and Shaw sits up, swinging her leg over Zoe’s hip with a look at Root to check that’s what she wants. Root nods, and Shaw grabs the purple, arching vibrator and slides down onto it with the ease of someone who’s been waiting to get fucked for a while. 

Her eyes flutter closed as she settles, bracing herself on Zoe’s sternum with one hand, reaching out for Root with the other, clearly wanting more contact. Root scoots in so she’s tucked in at Zoe’s side and can slide her arm around Shaw’s back, helping steady her.

“Everyone good?” Root inquires, her voice thick and husky, and she catches the hint of a smirk on Shaw’s lips so she leans in to bite at the slope of her shoulder, nipping hard enough to make Shaw squeak and rock forwards.

“Yeah, wow, it’s uh,” Zoe shifts her hips upwards, her eyebrows scrunched in, and then her face relaxes a little as Shaw moves forwards, clearly softening the angle by leaning down. Zoe exhales deeply, spreading her hands out on the bed and gasping. 

Shaw takes that as good to go, and rolls her hips, curling downwards a little more and grabbing the headboard, using it for leverage.

“How exactly are you gonna sit on her face?” Zoe gasps, her stomach muscles clenching as she lifts to meet Shaw’s movements.

“Not like this,” Root agrees, toying with Shaw’s firm back muscles and then grabbing her ass cheek, spreading her a little and urging her to move faster with her hand. 

Shaw groans and leans her body into Root; she’s hot and a little bit sweaty and Root is going to have to bite the shit out of her if Zoe’s not gonna fuck her any harder than this, so she curls herself around Shaw’s back and digs her teeth into the thick muscle over Shaw’s shoulderblade, making her yelp—but quietly, because she’s a good girl.

Root tells her so, “you’re so good, Sameen,” and Shaw makes the choked little noise she does when she’s trying not to beg. Root grins, smoothing her hand down the soft, sticky skin between Shaw’s legs until she can feel the silicone vibrator sliding in and out of her and touch Zoe and Shaw both, not with any finesse, just for her own pleasure.

Root keeps biting her, leaving pink crescents behind her mouth and making Shaw shudder and moan, until she can feel Shaw’s leg muscles trembling and Shaw’s letting out a broken stream of little noises. She slides her free hand over Shaw’s hip, pushes fingertips against her clit and grins into her spine. “Come for us, lover, we wanna feel you,” and Shaw curls forwards, pressing her face into her arm on top of Zoe’s chest, her hips jerking irregularly and Zoe says, “oh, fuck,” and wraps her arms around Shaw’s back, throwing her head back on the bed and Root watches her face while she comes. 

They keep shifting against each other, softly, as they come down, Zoe stroking Shaw’s back soothingly and Shaw cocking her hips barely an inch, idling through the tail end of her orgasm before pulling off with a wet noise that makes Root bite her lip. 

Shaw collapses back on the bed, pulling a pillow clumsily under her head, and opening her mouth with her eyes closed, like she’s waiting for a treat. Root exhales, half amused, half too aroused to function, and leaves Zoe with the dick still buzzing inside her, sending waves of tension through her body, in order to go and get hers.

“Anytime you wanna stick that back inside Shaw, go for it,” she breathes as she straddles Shaw’s face, biting her lip as she looks down at the flushed cheeks of her lover. 

“Mmm, yep,” Shaw agrees lazily, curling her fingers around Root’s thighs and tugging her down gently, until her lips slide hot and wet against the mess Root’s made and Root feels Shaw grin into her as she rubs her whole face against Root’s pussy, clearly getting come all over her chin and cheeks before settling down to eat Root out in earnest. 

Root’s got one hand in Shaw’s hair and one braced against the wall when Shaw groans into her cunt and a hot hand strokes down Root’s back, indicating that Zoe’s come to join them. Root leans back into the touch, but mostly she’s concentrating on how much she’s about to come all over Shaw’s face, even if her lover has lost the rhythm a little due to sudden penetration.

Zoe settles her hand on Root’s hip, digging in just a little with her fingers, and says “thank you guys so much for being _amazing_ in bed,” and Root laughs and comes at the same time, kind of sliding forwards until her face is pressed against the wall, staying there limp and glowy until Shaw starts making ‘I’m suffocating and not in the fun way!!” noises and frantically tapping her hip and she has to move.

She collapses sideways and curls up on Shaw’s strong chest, pushing her hand down Shaw’s belly until she finds her clit, rubbing smooth, long strokes against it. The back of Zoe’s hand glances off Root’s as she reaches down to touch herself, and Shaw comes first, tensing under Root and whispering, “jesus fucking oh fucking fucking fuck  _ fuck, _ ” while her stomach muscles skip delightfully under Root’s arm and her clit twitches against Root’s fingers. 

Zoe fucks Shaw through it, desperation in the rapid fire movement of her hips and the way her face is scrunched up, chasing her orgasm down determinedly. In the end, she comes only a few minutes after Shaw goes limp, just taking the pounding without any further participation, a dopey grin on her face.

Zoe leans back against Shaw’s legs as she comes, arching her whole body forwards, and then flopping back and out of Shaw, folding up between her legs with a deep but soft groan.

Root summons the energy to wriggle down and help Zoe get the feeldoe out and turn it off, then throws it on the floor and squirms up next to Shaw, throwing her leg back over Shaw’s hip.   
  
Zoe stays down at the end of the bed for a bit, and Root’s almost asleep by the time she turns around, pulling the abandoned covers over them all and throwing her arm across Shaw’s quiescent body to grab Root’s butt while she falls asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a long weekend and I'm going out of town, so I probably won't update on monday but tuesday instead.   
> X


	45. Q&A/ T&A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: allusions to threeways, casual nudity, some mild groping.

Shaw wakes up on the floor, and it takes her a minute to remember why. Root and Zoe sandwiching her was fine when she was passed out, but after waking up to pee, getting back into that tangled mass of limbs was extremely unappealing, so she’d pinched Zoe’s duvet and pillows from the bunkbed and made herself a nest.

“Root, oy, Root.” Zoe mumbles in the bed, moving around, and Shaw sits up to see what’s going on, yawning.

The blankets are pushed halfway down the bed, and Shaw can see Root’s arm disappearing under them at the front. Zoe catches Shaw’s eye and deposits Root’s hand back on top of the blankets. “Is she always this insatiable? She’s sleep molesting me!” She’s clearly more amused than anything else. 

Shaw snickers, untangling herself from her floor bed and squirming up behind Root. “Yeah, she does that a lot when she’s mostly asleep. Look, it’s hilarious.” She lifts Root’s hand up in the air, and lets go, and Root just leaves it there for a minute before bringing it down with unerring aim onto Zoe’s boob. Zoe giggles, rolling onto her other side and dislodging the groping hand.

“Roooot, hey, Rooooot,” Shaw murmurs right in Root’s ear, “who’s the President?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Root mumbles, “Leslie Knope,” almost too quiet to hear.

“I wish,” Zoe says, gleeful, “can I try?”   
  
“Sure, you have to say her name or she doesn’t answer though.” Shaw agrees, stroking her hand down Root’s soft hip.

“Root,” Zoe whispers, close to her cheek, “Root, who has the best boobs in the world?”

“‘Berta Warren,” Root replies after a small pause.

Zoe makes an unimpressed face, “hot tip, loser, when you’re in bed with two babes, it’s best to say one of them has the best boobs!” 

“Warren does have amazing boobs though,” Shaw defends Root, highly entertained.

“Better than mine?!” Zoe sounds absolutely aghast.

“On par?” Shaw offers as a compromise, and Zoe subsides, curling up a bit and looking at Root’s face.

“Root, hey, Root, what’s your favourite sex position?”

Shaw leans in to make sure she doesn’t miss the answer, and Root mumbles, “Wyoming Whack A Mole, Jammy Donkey Twist.” Shaw makes a mental note to google that later, shrugging at Zoe’s questioning gaze.

“Well, this is a hilarious game, but unfortunately I am too covered in come to think about anything else, and I have to shower immediately.” Zoe grumbles, rolling out of bed and stretching. Shaw admires her shamelessly because until someone leaves the threesome it’s still a threesome and you’re allowed to perv. Zoe does a little wriggle, clearly for Shaw’s benefit, and then grabs her tshirt, yanking it over her head and pulling it down to provide totally inadequate vjj cover. Shaw really hopes John is already in the living room. Not Harry though, that’s mean. 

“Later,” she waves as Zoe leaves, and tugs the duvet back over Root in a more sensible fashion, curling up on her side facing away and preparing to nod back off, and then Root rolls over up behind her and pushes her hand down between Shaw’s legs instead.

“Want me to demonstrate the Whack A Mole?” She wriggles closer, biting Shaw’s neck sleepily. Clearly she was more awake than Shaw thought during morning Q & A.

Shaw grumbles and pulls Root’s hand up to rest on her belly, less arousing territory, “I’m sleeping again.”   
  
“Spoilsport,” Root snickers, kissing her shoulderblade, and Shaw rolls her eyes, even though there’s no one there to see it.

 

***

When she wakes up again, everything smells like bacon, and she stretches happily, feeling the low down ache of a good, deep fuck. 

“Morning,” Root pokes her foot under Shaw’s bum, clearly sitting up in the bed, and Shaw rolls over to nibble on her hipbone. “I see you slept on the floor.” Root slides her hand into Shaw’s hair and scratches gently. 

“Mmm, sleeping with you guys is like sleeping with two extremely gropey octopi but at least our bed at home is king sized.” Root doesn’t seem mad or hurt or anything but Shaw feels like she should make sure Root knows it’s not a big deal. She’d have kicked Zoe out if it was, but they were cute all tangled up and the floor is good for sleeping on, so it doesn’t matter to Shaw at all.

“It’s not our fault you’re so soft and squeezable,” Root reaches down for a handful of Shaw’s bum, and Shaw arches into the warm hand, humming in sleepy pleasure. 

“True, I am irresistible,” Shaw chews on Root’s hip enough to make the skin pinken, and then kisses it better.

“Wanna know what happened with the Museum?” Root inquires.

“Obviously!” Suddenly actually awake, Shaw wriggles upright. “Is it on the news? You should have woken me up.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re asleep...” Root teases, replanting her hand on Shaw’s inner thigh, “you make little snuffly noises and are naked and so so soft.”

“Tell me!” Shaw demands, indignantly, “or I’ll go and find out from someone not terrible.”

“Three arrests, the names aren’t released but I hacked the police reports to have a little look.”

“Hang on, does everyone else know?” Shaw raises an eyebrow, and Root wrinkles her nose.

“Ah.. not unless Harry also did some morning hacking. Should we...?”

“ _ Yes _ .” Honestly, Root is so bad at being a team member sometimes, to used to being a lone wolf. Shaw wriggles clear of the bed and has a look at herself in the mirror. There’s a hickey on the slope of her shoulder she doesn’t quite recall getting, and she smells fairly pungent—like three different flavours of jizz and some sweat. “But also we should shower. Wanna conserve water?"

“Always,” Root agrees, getting to her feet and grabbing an abandoned towel to wrap around herself. “Are you sure you can contain your impatience?”   
  
“No, but you can give me the overview and then do the full deets for the team when we have bacon.” Shaw offers, pulling on some clean boxers and a tshirt for the trip to the bathroom.

They shower quickly with Root giving Shaw the lowdown, and then head out into the main space for breakfast and to update the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that every time you leave a comment you're increasing my motivation and increasing the likelihood that I will have any desire at all to write more of this universe. 
> 
> PS: Roberta Warren has amazing boobs!!! I'm having a resurgence in anticipation of season 3 of Z Nation (one of the best shows in the world, if you decide to watch it you have to Push Through the baby {believe me you'll know what I mean in episode 1} and also don't worry all the annoying Men die it's great.) But the Wyoming Whackamole with a Jammy Donkey Twist is not something I can explain to you in comments without a smol essay. I'll try and write it at some point if you're interested:D


	46. What're We Gonna Do Tonight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since many of you asked and many others of you made the terrible mistake of googling (NEVER GOOGLE A SEX POSITION) here is the definition, which is graphic. 
> 
> The Wyoming Whack a Mole is a variant on the Alabama Whackamole (balls in someone's vjj, rubbing their clit with your dick) where you're doggy style so you can only do that with a strap on cause you have to flip the dick around. A Donkey is hogtying someone, and a Jammy Twist is sticking something up their butt. So... you'd have Root behind Shaw, with an upsidedown strap on that had balls, with the balls in Shaw's pussy, rubbing the dick over Shaw's clit, with fingers in her ass, and Shaw is hogtied on her knees and elbows. Root was mostly awake and mostly joking at this point. It's not her _favourite_ it's just a good one ',;D

There’s waffles for breakfast this morning, or at least there’s still batter in a bowl next to the unplugged waffle maker. By the looks of the empty, syrup smeared plates abandoned on the table the rest of the Team has already had theirs. 

Root goes to start coffee but Shaw bats her hands away and points at the sofa. “You update, I cook,” she demands, already plugging the waffle maker back in.

“Bossy,” Root teases, but obediently heads for the comfy sofa. Joss is curled up on her bed with Zoe’s head in her lap, and Harry and John are nowhere to be seen. “Where are the boys?”

“They just went to the store,” Joss explains, “we ran out of bacon.”

“ _ What _ ?” Shaw practically yells it, slamming a pan down on the stovetop with unnecessary violence.

“And.. that is why they went to the store.” Zoe giggles, pointing at Shaw’s indignant little face. 

With perfect timing, the door clicks open and the boys come in, hands full of bags. John chucks a package to Shaw before she has time to yell at him, and she catches it handily and somehow rips it open with her teeth in a completely ridiculous display of aggression. Root realises she’s staring at Shaw with her dopey face on when Shaw raises an eyebrow at her and twirls her finger in the air for Root to turn around.

“So ignoring Ron Swanson over there, who wants to know how amazing we are on a scale of absolutely mindblowing to holy shit can you believe we are this fucking badass?” Root flops down on the sofa.

“Meeeee!” Zoe kicks her feet in the air, and Joss puts her book down and a pillow over Zoe’s face in an effort to subdue her, presumably.

“Me too!” John adds, like he thinks he might be excluded from the update if he doesn’t vote yes, and Root grins, putting her hands together and doing her best Mr Burns impression with her fingers.

“We are absolutely mindblowing holy shit can you  _ believe  _ we are this fucking badass... They arrested Blackwell and Bouchard  _ in  _ the gallery, just as we planned, they found the tech in the van and they totally don’t believe her story about five american teenagers...” 

“Hey, we’re not teenagers!” Zoe points out, indignantly from under her pillow hat.

“Clearly our youthful appearance fooled her,” Root flaps a hand. “Its not important, anyway they’re convinced there was another player, and they’ve picked up the guy that Blackwell flew in with, whoever that is. They’re looking into Bouchard and Blackwell, obviously, and pinged Blackwell on five counts of fraud already! So he’s looking at four years, minimum.”

“Is that all?” Joss frowns.

Root gratefully takes her cup of fresh coffee from Shaw. “Yeah, for now, but that’s just what they’ve turned up already, and I’m gonna figure out how to connect him to Hanna’s death and the kids with the art scholarships.”

“Corruption charges, maybe?” Harry muses.

“Maybe. So anyway, we have some time to figure it out, now they’ve been arrested. They’re being held without bail which is great; I was a bit worried he might do a runner and it’s easy as shit to disappear in Europe. Borders are everywhere.” Root scalds her mouth, and hisses quietly.

Shaw returns to the group with two plates, one piled high and one with a single waffle on it, no bacon, just a few strawberries and a little cream, just the way Root likes it. “Well, we have Hanna’s paintings. I bet her cases are covered in her fingerprints, which might link her to Blackwell, dunno about the paintings themselves but probably she wore gloves. And we have the phone.”

“The phone, for sure, but the only links are to that number it showed, and I’ve already looked into that, it’s a dead end.” Root agrees.

“Wait, why would the painting cases with Hanna’s fingerprints link to Blackwell?” Joss asks, and Zoe wriggles out from under her pillow to declare excitedly.

“I know this one! Because he just lifted the original and got hella busted, so you would assume the forgeries were something to do with him, right?”

“Maybe, but that’s circumstantial at best.” Joss demurs, “like, okay, they look into it, and what, find Hanna’s fingerprints on these paintings? That just implicates her.”

“And then they look into her background,” Shaw picks up the train through a mouthful of waffle, “and if they don’t put the art scholarship together with the Young Artists’ Award and Blackwell, like we did but backwards, then we just have to make sure they stumble on a connection.” 

“We have to hand in the paintings somehow, right?” John asks, leaning forward, “so why not make sure there’s something else incriminating in the cases, fake some emails between her and Blackwell or something, print them out like Hanna was keeping insurance against him. You can do that, right, love?” He looks at Harry questioningly.

“Hmm, yes, I think we could. It would take a bit of digital trickery, we’d have to set up email accounts and backdate them, build a whole base for the accounts, because the FBI will definitely look into it extensively... but they shouldn’t be looking for anyone framing Blackwell, because they already have him in custody. So we should be able to pull it off, with the right help.” Harry looks at Root for confirmation, and she nods.

“I think so. Good idea John, it’s definitely worth looking into. We could also just make printouts of the Young Artists Award: Blackwell’s been at all of them according to Caleb, so there has to be a picture of him, or CCTV footage or something we can whack in there. Copies of Hanna’s financials. We can make it look like she was planning on turning him in.”

“Let’s get copies of everything Caleb found, all the inadmissible evidence, all the breadcrumbs, and stuff them in the artist’s case with the paintings, and they’ll  _ have  _ to be able to put it together and make a case.” Shaw looks pretty pleased with everything in the world right now, and it’s very cute. 

“And if they don’t, we can keep an eye on the investigation and nudge it in the right direction if it needs to be nudged.” Root agrees.

“So, should we call Kelli?” John asks earnestly.

“Why?” Shaw looks at him in confusion and John frowns.

“To tell her Blackwell’s in jail in Paris and whatever he has on her, now would be the time to either go and get it or make a break for it.” His tone has  _ obviously  _ written all over it, and Root wrinkles her nose: he’s so thoughtful it’s a bit gross.

“Yeah, good point,” she finishes her waffle and licks her lips, “guess that’s on me.” 

“But I will listen helpfully!” Zoe grins, kicking her feet again. “We are such an amazing team, I feel like we could probably take over the world if we really set our minds to it.”

“A terrifying thought,” Harry huffs, half amused, half serious. “We’d probably end up accidentally Jurassic Parking everything up somehow.”

  
“Well, DNA experiments on dinosaurs aside, we probably couldn’t do worse than a lot of the world is doing right now, so I’m with Zoe,” Shaw grins. “But where are we gonna get eighteen candles, a set of glow in the dark bowling pins, and four gallons of superglue at this time of night?”


	47. They Just Want to Relax, Goddamit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for the jump in kudos and the comments you've been leaving, it makes a world of difference to me and I feel good about this story again for the first time in monnnnnnnnnnths. Have a hug! I start my new novel today, so making time for HtG-while important-can't be the priority for me. Leaving comments is the best way to remind me to work on this in my free time <3

After a bit more discussion, it’s agreed that once they’ve told Kelli they’ve dealt with Blackwell, they can sit back and enjoy their vacation properly. They fly to Amsterdam in four days and then Italy after that and are all looking forward to some quality lying on a beach time. The rest of the loose ends can be tied up once they get back home, after all.

Shaw gathers up the dishes and stacks them in the sink while the rest of the Team figure out what Root needs to say to Kelli, which isn’t in Shaw’s ballpark and she’s not especially interested in helping plan anyway. If Kelli’s smart she’ll take the opportunity to relocate and start fresh somewhere else, with whatever criminal or legal path she chooses.

But Shaw is interested enough to wander over once Root starts dialling, and she props her bum on the table to listen in. Root’s still sitting on the couch, but Shaw can hear well enough from here, as everyone has gone pretty quiet while the call connects.

Root sounds almost unbearably smug when the line connects, “Hiya, Kelli.” It’s the sort of tone that makes Shaw think she’s probably not going to be able to sit down tomorrow. 

“Root?” Kelli’s voice comes through, cautious. 

“The one and only,” God, she’s so lame sometimes it makes Shaw want to bite her.

“What do you want?” Kelli asks, her voice fading and then brightening again, like she’s changing location. There’s a clicking sound Shaw can’t identity. 

“Just thought you might be interested to know we’ve taken care of your little Blackwell problem, he won’t be rejoining you in the States for quite some time,” Root drawls confidently.

There’s a moment of silence, before Kelli responds, “what?” Her voice is slightly higher than it was before.

“He got arrested, being held without bail over here in gay Paree,” Root isn’t quite crowing, but it’s definitely in that ballpark.

“Oh my God,” Kelli whispers, sounding horrified, and Root sits forwards, confused. Shaw frowns, not understanding. “You meddling idiots. What have you done?”

“Well... we thought you’d be pleased,” Root points out, “since he was obviously blackmailing you in some way.”

“They have my daughter... if they suspect I had anything to do with this they’ll  _ kill  _ her. And Cyril will be in charge, now. He’s so, so much worse.” Kelli sounds on the edge of hysteria, and Root’s face is doing something complicated that Shaw can’t read, but her voice is soothing when she replies.

“Okay, Kelli, listen to me. There’s no way they’re going to link this to you, they’re not even going to link it to us, everything’s going to be okay. You have to tell me about your daughter. We can help, I promise. We’ll help you.” 

 

***

It takes a while for the full story to come out, how Kelli got pregnant when she was only nineteen, and had gotten mixed up with a criminal group by accident, how they took her daughter to ensure her cooperation. How she hasn’t seen Kai, for more than a few hours in the past four years. How Cyril once threatened to cut Kai’s fingers off, one by one, if Kelli wouldn’t do what she’s told. 

Shaw gets progressively angrier and angrier as the story unfolds, her spine feels tight and hard, like anyone touching her might get electrocuted. Root just listens calmly, says all the right things, calms Kelli down and makes her feel like it’s going to be okay, promises to call her back soon with a plan to untangle her from the web she’s caught up in, but when Root hangs up the phone she looks stricken, lost.

“We have to go back?” She says, and it’s about half a question. “We can’t be responsible for getting a kid killed.”

“First we have to find her,” Harry glowers, pink in the cheeks, pushing his glasses up his nose as John passes him the computer. 

Since Shaw is obviously useless on that front, she looks up the nearest gym with a pool and sorts out her gear. She, John, Zoe and Joss all head out, leaving Root and Harry hard at work, frantically leaning over computer screens scrolling all sorts of complex red and green garbage over black boxes. 

To Shaw’s delight, a semi-pro boxer—who she initially thought was checking her out—offers to take her on for a few rounds, so she gets to sweat and beat out some of the fizzing aggression spiking her bloodstream. The guy—Harvey something, a lawyer, apparently—who clearly thinks he is very smooth indeed, tries to persuade her to go out for a drink when they’re too tired to lift their arms up any more. He’s not great at taking a hint, so Shaw deliberately pulls her tanktop off, exposing the bite marks scattered around her sports bra when she ditches him to find the others chilling in the next door cafe. 

They head back to the apartment, worn out and feeling a bit less overwrought, to find Root writing in cryptic code on the windows, and Harry poring over CCTV footage of what looks like New York City.

“Anything we can do?” Joss asks, practically, as she heads right for the fridge. Ah, Shaw realises, the nerds probably haven’t eaten since the rest of them left, and it’s pushing five p.m. She heads over to help Joss put together some sandwiches.

“She’s in New York,” Harry replies, distractedly, “looks like under the care of a team of four.”

“Poor kid isn’t even in school,” Root hisses, scribbling something, erasing it with her sleeve and then rewriting it.

“What are you doing?” Shaw inquires, bringing Root a sandwich—white bread, thin butter, single slice of ham, a bit of cheese and lettuce—Root is a picky eater and the more aggravated she is, the less like an adult she is when it comes to food.

“I had some thoughts about Nova I wanted to get down before I forget them, and Harry is keeping eyes on Kai. We thought we’d wait for you all to get back before we tried to make a plan. We maybe have to fly to New York and deal with it ourselves.”

“Can’t we just tip the police off to where she is?” Joss asks, “like, I doubt they have legal guardianship paperwork on hand.” 

“Risky, though, and I’m loathe to endanger the child that way.” Harry responds, sounding exhausted, “but I don’t know that we have any better options.”

“Who are the four? Are they with her all the time? Are they armed? Fighters?” Shaw asks the practical questions no one else has for some reason.

“Two of them look like common street thugs, one of them is an ex cop, got six years for on corruption, released two years ago, and the last one is a bit of a mystery.”

“Can I see?” John asks, leaning over the computer, and Shaw wanders over to look as Harry pulls up four headshots of the men holding Kai. Harry points out the ones they have information on, and John taps the screen over the last guy’s head, making Harry tut in annoyance at the fingerprint on his screen.

“This guy looks ex-military.” John says.

“How could you possibly know that?” Zoe inquires, dangling off the couch.

“It’s a very distinctive haircut,” John replies, deadpan, but then his lip twitches and he taps a different picture below, “plus he has a Marine Corps tattoo.”

“Don’t want to fight him, then,” Shaw muses. “What’s their schedule like? With the kid.”

“Six hour shifts, one guy at a time,” Root replies, “we could take them down easily, we just have to get there.” 

Shaw narrows her eyes.“If two of them are that useless, we don’t even need to get there ourselves. I have a friend in New York who might lend a hand. He likes kids.” 

“Who?” Harry asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Joey Durban? I trained with him for like five years, we used to cage fight on the same circuit so I know he’s not opposed to a bit of criminal activity, and for the cost of six airfares,” Shaw waves her hand at the room, “I’m sure he’d be willing to punch a dude in the face and rescue a child.” 

“And then... take her crosscountry to get her back to her mom?” Root asks, “she’s only five, it’s not like we can pop her on a plane alone.” 

“That might be a bit of a big ask, he runs a gym and it takes up most of his time.”

“Well, let’s get Kelli to New York?” Zoe chimes in, waving her hands, “that way, the kid goes straight to her mom, and they can head wherever they want from there.”  

“Sounds like a plan...” Root says slowly, clearly lost in thought. “Guess I should find out if they both have passports, and you’d better call your good friend Joey,” she grins at Shaw, “use my phone, it’s loaded with all the good stuff.”

Shaw scoops it up off the table, looking around, “everyone cool with that?”    
  
“Yeah, if your buddy can pull it off, then we can get back to relaxing,” John says seriously, “give him a call, cause we’re back at square one if he says no, and we shouldn’t get Kelli’s hopes up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cameos: Harvey Spectre from Suits and Joey Durban from POI


	48. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a hellacious flu and my beta reader is on vacation so this isn't edited but hopefully it's coherent :D

So while Shaw mooches off to a bedroom to give her fighter friend a call, Joss and Harry work on Kai’s schedule, decided that her weekly trip to a park will be the best time for Joey to grab her. Although, John points out that kidnapping a child in full view of multiple witnesses might not go well. 

Eventually, it’s decided that the best plan would be for Joey to get in the guard’s car while he’s playing with Kai, and then knock him out when he gets into the driver’s seat, with some sort of message for Kai from Kelli so she doesn’t freak out and run away. 

Root’s put in charge of figuring out how to get into the car in question, all the guards share the same vehicle when they’re on duty, a city style Jeep. She looks into the make and model, and then calls Romeo to find her someone who can break into it or maybe even lift the keys from the guard at the park. 

While Romeo’s on the case, Shaw emerges, nodding. “Joey’s in, he’ll be our muscle.”

“Time to call Kelli then, I guess,” Root mutters ruefully. She feels horribly like she misread the situation with Kelli, should have done a better job reading into what Kelli wasn’t telling them. She usually prides herself on her ability to manipulate people to her own ends, and was so busy trying to figure out her side of things this time that she didn’t realise what Kelli had at stake. It’s making her feel a bit gross, if she’s honest.

“It’ll be okay, Root,” Shaw pads over, brushes her thumb across Root’s shoulderblade, “how could you possibly have known some asshole kidnapped Kelli’s kid. We didn’t even know she  _ had  _ a kid.”

“And we’re going to fix it, anyway,” Zoe adds, practically, “so she’s gonna be better off than she was before we got mixed up in her life of crime.” 

“True,” Root realises, Kelli’s kid might still be in danger right now, but they’re going to pull her out of it and help Kelli start again. “Hey, Harry, want to set up a bank account and stuff for Kelli while I call her?”

“Do I get tax breaks on finances used to fund escaping criminals?” Harry grumbles, but grabs his laptop anyway and clearly gets on with the task at hand. 

Root gives Shaw a half-hearted grin and takes the offered phone back, dialling Kelli’s number by heart. 

“Root?” She sounds young, and very desperate.

“It’s me,” Root confirms, wrinkling her nose, “it’s okay, we have a plan in place. They’re holding Kai in New York, so we want to get you there so you can meet her as soon as our guy pulls her out, minimise the time she spends with strangers. And we need a phrase from you, or something that she’ll recognise, so she knows she can trust our man.” 

“Oh, God,” Kelli breaks into sniffles for a moment, and Shaw pulls a face, removing her warm hand from barely touching Root’s shoulder and she stalks across the room, flopping into a chair with a growly noise that’s very cute. “Tell her, tell him to tell her  '你是棉花糖'”

Root realises abruptly that she knows zero Mandarin, and slips out of her seat, padding to the window she’s been coding on and grabbing her pen, “one more time, I’m gonna write it down phonetically,” she scribbles an approximation, coming up with 'ni shi mian hua tang' as Kelli repeats it, “alright, I’ve got it. Now, do you have a passport you can travel on that Cyril won’t be able to track?”   
  
“No... no. All my aliases are done through them,” Kelli clearly makes an effort to get herself under control, her voice steadying.

“No problem, I’ll sort something out for you and have someone meet you at the airport.” She grabs her computer again, navigating to airline tickets. “Looks like we can get you on the 12pm to JFK on...” Kai goes to the park every Saturday, so it has to be the day after tomorrow, and it would be better if Kelli was there earlier. “Well, it has to be tomorrow. Doesn’t give you much time to pack, but we’ll make sure you have money on the other side.”

“..Who  _ are  _ you people?” Kelli mutters, confusion and distrust warring in her voice.

Root doesn’t know how to answer that, for a second, and John leans over to grab the phone. “Friends,” he says, with a serious note in his gravelly voice. “We’re friends.”

 

***

The rest of the day is spent organising Kelli and Kai’s new identities, sorting out financial support, and booking her into a hotel at the airport where Joey can drop Kai off as soon as he has her, and then they can get straight on a flight to... California, Root decides, just because. 

Romeo comes through with a pickpocket in New York, so John takes charge of explaining the situation and what they need while Harry deals with the financial remuneration for the thief, and Joey’s services, while Shaw disappears into the bedroom, presumably overwhelmed by people and wanting some space. 

The team feel like everything is in place, even the rush job on the passports that Romeo’s set up, and Harry is feeling very smug about his photoshopping skills, getting a still from a camera to use as a picture for Kai wasn’t easy, apparently. 

Romeo is going to meet Kelli at the airport with her papers and some cash, as well as banking information for her new identity, Root finds a nice little furnished two bedroom apartment in Sacramento and puts first and last down, and then they’re all sort of left twiddling their thumbs. 

  
It’s a strange feeling, having the execution of a plan be out of your hands, and Root doesn’t really like it much. But she  _ is  _ excited about tying up the loose ends of this particular adventure and lying on a beach somewhere. She can’t wait to see Shaw playing sweaty volleyball in a bikini, and lick the salt off her in a fancy hotel room. The sooner Kai is safe and they can get back to vacationing properly the better, in her opinion. 


	49. Gotta See the Sights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some smut, ruled on both sides, vanilla

Exhausted from a busy day of criminal activity, the gang retire to bed early, and get up the same way. Looking at the list of things they wanted to do in Paris, it’s clear they won’t be able to fit everything in. Tomorrow is going to be taken up at least in part by monitoring Joey and Kelli from the apartment, and they day after that they’re flying to Amsterdam. 

After some brief discussion, the boys decide to head to L’Orangerie and then over to Sainte-Chappelle. Shaw is adamant about getting to see the catacombs—the top of her Parisian list—and Zoe and Joss want to do some shopping and see the Arc De Triomphe, so it’s decided to go in separate directions.   

Jim Morrison’s grave is on Zoe and Joss’ list as well as Shaw’s, so the four of them—Root, Shaw, Zoe and Joss—decide to stick together for the morning and then split up after that. 

Getting ready in a flurry, Root smirks as she catches Shaw’s slightly clumsy movements, the tension in her muscles and the heat in her cheeks that show she could do with an orgasm before going anywhere. She hasn’t asked, though, she almost never would. She’s so sweet giving her power up to Root, trusting her to take care of them both.

* * *

 

“How quick can you be?” Root enquires, grabbing Shaw by the tshirt before she can pull pants on over her french-cut panties.

Shaw smirks, pressing herself against Root’s body like a cat. “Remember that time I beat the popcorn?”   
  
“You did start without me that time,” Root points out, slapping Shaw’s butt lightly before shoving her panties down unceremoniously, and maneuvering Shaw bodily towards the bed. 

“Barely,” Shaw complains, inhaling sharply as Root pinches her nipple and shoves her down towards the mattress before climbing after her, fully dressed and grinning widely. 

“It’s eight forty two twenty one, ready to go for a record?”

Shaw nods as she obediently opens her legs for Root’s pushing hands and wriggles back up the bed even as Root crawls after her, sealing her mouth over Shaw’s pussy without further ado. Shaw shivers and arches, knotting her fingers together on her stomach, and Root pulls back enough to say, “you can touch,” before sliding two fingers into her mouth to wet them.

Shaw looks at her with so much heat in her eyes, zeroed in on Root’s lips, that she makes a show of it for a second, but they don’t have enough time to mess around. They’re pretty much on how-long-does-it-take-Zoe-to-find-her-things time, so she grins around her fingers at the look on Shaw’s face before pulling them out of her mouth.

The sensation of pushing inside Shaw is always amazing, but sometimes when they get to penetration especially fast, when Shaw hasn’t  been waiting and wanting, she’s so tight it blows Root’s mind to get to ease into that, to stretch her out. 

Shaw shudders and moans out Root’s name, slides her fingers into Root’s hair and fists them gently, oh so gently, like Root is precious and might break. Root hums happily and lowers her mouth back to Shaw’s clit. 

Shaw pulses under her mouth, the delicate flesh twitching, and Root sucks her clit gently, playing before setting to with her tongue and fingers in earnest. She fucks into Shaw deep and hard and long, dragging her fingertips against Shaw’s gspot firmly, sliding all the way out and back into the gripping muscles. 

Nipping softly, the way Shaw likes best, Root watches her lover as she eats her, admiring the way Shaw clenches her stomach muscles so they stand proud where her tshirt is rucked up, the line of her jaw so sharp and perfect where she’s thrown her head back on the pillow, hair mussed and spread wildly around her in a dark halo.

When Shaw comes, she opens her mouth, bites her lip and then exhales in a drawn out, quiet sigh that makes Root shiver, her stomach flipping in pleasure. She laps gently over Shaw’s clit while she comes down, before pulling back to check the time. 

“Four and a half minutes, impressive, but not a record.” She does the math easily and grins affectionately at her lover before planting a wet kiss on her floppy thigh and rolling off the bed, grabbing a dirty tshirt off the floor to wipe her fingers and face off on. They really need to do laundry, she notes idly.

* * *

 

“Alright, you have till I’ve brushed my teeth and washed up to get your pants back on, speedy,” Root teases as she heads for the bedroom door, leaving Shaw splayed out in half naked disarray.

By the time she’s putting her shoes on at the door, Shaw emerges, dressed and with her hair hoisted up into a pony. She has the soft, satisfied look and calmness about her she only gets after an orgasm, and Zoe snorts as she rummages through her purse, clearly not fooled by the speed at which they took care of the ants-in-the-pants situation. 

Root tamps her own arousal down with ease: she’s always been good at compartmentalising, controlling her physical responses to stimulus. Eating Shaw out is, of course, intensely arousing, but she’s able to put those feelings away from what she’s currently doing and save it for a more appropriate time. 

Shaw nudges her shoulder into Root’s companionably as they head down the stairs with Zoe and Joss.

Fortunately, Zoe had the foresight to pick up some weed from her mustachioed lover earlier in the week, so they’re not the only sober people in sight at Morrison’s grave. The whole graveyard is pretty cool, but Jim’s is swathed in fresh flowers and surrounded by hippies, some strumming guitars and singing. Shaw is interested for approximately four seconds before she wanders off to lean on a different memorial and sketch some of the scenery while Joss, Zoe and Root mooch around a bit. 

There’s not actually a lot to see, and Root doesn’t really get why it’s such a pilgrimage, but she guesses she’s not super into the music so maybe if she was she’d be into it? But then she realises that even if her very favourite musicians died she probably wouldn’t be anything more than mildly annoyed she didn’t get to listen to any new stuff from them, rather than actually bothered enough to go on an expedition. Clearly it's just not her thing. Zoe and Joss seem to enjoy it though, and Root doesn't mind really.  
  
They grab lunch together in a hole-in-the-wall bistro before splitting up so Shaw and Root can head down into the land of the dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delayed post, teh flu really fucking kicked my ass and now I am behind on everything in the world <3


	50. Honestly, Not Even One 'Bone' Joke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the catacombs is literally full of bones, all piled up, so if that is not your jam maybe skip this chapter :)

Shaw is eager to get into the underground, but the queue is a little offputting when they arrive and she eyes it disparagingly. 

“Why don’t we just wander around for a bit?” Root inquires, looking at her phone. “Last entry is at 7:30 so we can come back later and hope it’s quieter. Internet says going in about five is best.”   
  


“Yeah, alright,” Shaw agrees, tucking her hand in her back pocket and leaning against the metal railing, “what is there to do?”

“Nothing specific without getting back on the metro, but it’s a nice day, we can just mooch around and look at stuff or find a park to make out in.” Root grins at her, tugging on her belt loop until she stands up.

Shaw straightens up without replying, but Root is clearly able to pick up on her agreement, and they walk down the street in companionable silence. Shaw’s actually enjoying the rare lack of conversation, God knows she’s used to it having lived with Zoe for four years, but it can still grate on her nerves. Root has an excellent line in letting Shaw have some quiet, when she’s not making sex jokes. 

They get a delicious icecream—well Shaw gets a delicious icecream and Root gets some sort of fruity sorbet nonsense, and they just kind of walk around aimlessly. 

It’s very pleasant, and Shaw is having a good day, shortly to be improved by the sheer volume of bones in the catacombs. She’s heard there’s pirate designs and stuff set into the walls of femurs and she is quite excited. 

It’s about four by the time they get bored of meandering and head back over to the entrance of the catacombs to check out the situation and maybe grab a coffee somewhere, but the line is practically empty so they just hop in and Shaw tries to stop Root from putting her cold hands up the back of Shaw’s tshirt to ‘warm up’. 

They only have to wait around for ten minutes before they’re heading down the narrow staircase into the cold, dark tunnels. 

“I can’t decide if I want you to go first or stay behind me,” Root has a snicker in her voice though, so Shaw knows she’s not actually scared.

It’s not as narrow as Root expected, easily enough room to walk side by side for the most part, and Shaw goodnaturedly puts up with Root holding her hand  _ and  _ stealing her spare sweater out of the daybag—mostly because it is too small for Root so it’s tight and her boobs look really good in the soft gray material.

“You look very gropable in that,” Shaw observes as they head into the first tunnel proper, getting distracted by the floor-to-ceiling bone-lined walls. “This is cool as fuck.”

“In a ‘Vlad the Decorator’ kind of way,” Root agrees, brushing her thumb over the back of Shaw’s hand. The only people in the tunnel close enough to hear are already out of sight, “are you having ‘molest me in a chamber of bones’ fantasies?”

Shaw gives her an appraising look, can feel the smirk on her own face. “I can’t believe you didn’t make a boner joke.” 

“Too easy,” Root brushes the faux criticism off, uses her handhold on Shaw to tug her close enough that Shaw can feel her body heat before shoving her gently so she keeps walking.

Their footsteps echo on the cold stone, and Shaw’s heartrate is elevated just slightly, more from the tight grip Root has on her hand than anything else, although the unpredictable scuffing sounds of other people somewhere else in the twisty tunnels helps make her feel slightly adrenalised. 

“Ooh, pretty,” Root points at a heart made of skulls set into stacks of femurs, and Shaw nods. “Can you even believe how many bones there are down here?” Root continues, “it seems impossible.”

“Well it’s between six and seven million” Shaw dredges up the fact from somewhere, “so... a lot.”

“It’s both creepy and amazing,” Root grins at her. “What shape would you have made from skulls?” They pause at the pirate flag design, a skull with crossed bones set flat instead of stacked with their ends facing the walkers. 

“Probably a person,” Shaw grins, “like just get all the bits and stack ‘em up person shaped. I always wanted a shot at building a skeleton back up.” 

“Nerd.” Root snickers at her as they start walking again. 

Shaw snorts, “sure, I’m the nerd in this relationship.”  She catches the pleased look that Root tries to wipe off her face, the one she always gets when Shaw admits they’re dating, and shoulder checks her to make sure Root knows she saw. 

The catacombs wind under the city, and when they emerge back into the outside world, daylight is a bit bright and shocking after the gloom and cold of the underground.

“Do you mind if we go out and do something on our own?” Shaw inquires, scuffing her foot against the sidewalk as they pull aside so Root can shuck off her extra layer. Shaw didn’t even put on long sleeves for the walk, and she enjoys the warmth of the late evening sun draping golden over her. She’s tanned a bit this summer, and her arm muscles look good, she thinks. 

“Of course not.” Root actually sounds pretty pleased, as far as Shaw can tell, and she nods. It’s not that the team isn’t fun to hang with, but Shaw’s been having a really nice day with just Root and she kind of doesn’t want it to end just yet. “What do you wanna eat?” Root breaks her out of her train of thought.

“Mm, it might be our last night out in Paris, have a wild guess,” Shaw rolls her eyes at the very question.

“Well, the best steak in the city is apparently at La Maison de l'Aubrac, which also sounds like they won’t care we’re in our tourist outfits,” Root does a quick search on her phone, “so maybe we should give that a shot, get some beef in you.” The last part is delivered with a meaningful smirk.

“That is the voice of plans,” Shaw points out, licking her lips involuntarily, and Root gives her an airy grin.

“Well, we just found out how fast you can go, but we haven’t played the ‘how long you can last’ game for a while.”

“Are you seriously gonna keep me up all night before tomorrow?” Shaw inquires, not really put off by this. 

Root snickers merrily and starts walking, waiting for Shaw to catch up before responding. “Well, I might let you get  _ some  _ sleep.” 

The stuff with Kai will go down when she heads to the park with her guard, which is around nine in the morning, so with time differences it’ll be three in the afternoon, Shaw guesses. As long as they’re set up and sorted earlier than that, it should be fine. 

“I guess I can have a lie-in,” she says, so that Root knows she agrees with the idea. 


	51. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some constant flirting and then low level sexual content at the end, marked with a rule

Root phones ahead to make a reservation, and spends the journey on the metro reading choice reviews about juicy, dripping meat to Shaw in her sexiest voice, because it’s a fun game making Shaw get all squirmy and most of the reviews sound like porn anyway,even without the extra effort to eroticise them.

Shaw keeps shooting her looks that are halfway between ‘oh my god you nerd please stop’ and ‘oh help my pants please stop... please don’t stop’, both of which do nothing but make Root more enthused. 

Shaw’s all pink in the cheeks and tips of her little elf ears by the time they get off the tube, and she glares at Root half-heartedly as she wriggles a little while they walk up the stairs, clearly uncomfortable in the lower regions. 

This all just makes Root epically smug as they sit at the white clothed table and order a nice bottle of wine. Shaw is looking around at the people, and Root is content to watch her watching the crowd. She likes the way Shaw narrows her eyes just slightly when she is trying to get a read on someone or something, the calculating expression she has. 

The wine is good, rich and deep flavoured, and Root makes an inadvertent happy noise when it hits her palette, which snaps Shaw’s attention back to her. Shaw watches her throat while she swallows, parts her lips when Root licks hers.

There’s a pianist playing something ambient and inoffensive in the corner of the warmly-lit room, and although Root and Shaw are perhaps the scruffiest of the patrons, there are people in jeans and short sleeves and they don’t stand out too much.

Root catches sight of a delicious looking plate headed across the room, and remembers she should probably look at the menu. “Do you like oysters?” Root inquires, flipping her menu open lazily. Shaw hasn’t even opened hers, since her classic order of ‘whatever your best steak is, blue’, hardly requires preparation.   
  
“Yep,” Shaw leans back in her seat a little, eyeing Root up, “need an aphrodisiac?” She teases.

Root snorts. “Hardly, your squirmy-help-my-pants face is my biggest turn on.” 

Shaw wrinkles her nose, amused, and wriggles a little in her seat, picking up her spoon and deliberately wrapping her lips around it. 

“Are you ready to order?” The waiter appears at Shaw’s elbow, and she doesn’t even bother to pretend she wasn’t being a pervert as she grins around her spoon and then takes it out of her mouth and puts it down on the tablecloth with a smirk. 

They are ready to order, so Root does, getting them some oysters to split because she really wants them after seeing the deliciousness pass her by, and then settling on a lovely sounding vegetable and lentil soup for herself. 

The starter comes pretty quickly, and they slurp their oysters down, messing around a little but not so much as to get disapproving looks from the other diners. It’s a delicious, laid back meal, and Root is really pleased Shaw suggested it. 

For dessert, Shaw gets a chocolate and coffee mousse affair, and Root decides on a lemon cheesecake, but they end up splitting both and swapping plates around after Root almost knocks over their empty wine bottle offering Shaw a forkful. 

Root’s feeling light and giggly as they tumble out into the night. They’d texted the others to let them know to sort out their own dinners, and it’s a beautiful night, so they opt for a little walk to work off some of the fullness of dinner. Both of them are obviously thinking forward to the evening Root had promised Shaw, and it seems like they’re both on the same page in terms of anticipation being very enjoyable, currently.

Their hands brush as they walk, and Shaw eventually makes a huffing noise and laces their fingers together, making Root have to squash down her inner squee a bit.

They fully expect the team to be home when they get back, but the apartment is silent and dark, no sign of any of the others.

* * *

 

Root wastes no time in pulling Shaw against her body, running firm hands down her sides and grabbing fistfulls of her ass to squeeze. “Mmm, fuck you have a nice ass,” she murmurs, muscling Shaw back against the wall until her shoulders hit the hard surface and she exhales against Root’s collar bones.

Shaw makes a little pleased noise and leans her head back against the wall in response, and Root ducks her head to kiss her, biting her lip until Shaw exhales into her mouth, arching her hips forwards. 

They make out leisurely in the living room for a while, just because, Root enjoying the press of Shaw’s hard little body against hers, the way Shaw lifts and pushes against her but accepts every bit of force Root exerts. Shaw could snap Root in half, but instead she lets Root hold her wrists against the wall, dig her teeth into her soft throat, and begs for more with her body.

They break the kiss when Shaw’s phone beeps, and Root laughs a little as she pulls back, not having meant to get that carried away. Shaw chases her mouth for a moment and then leans back, breathing elevated and looking pretty pleased with herself. 

She fishes her phone out of her pocket with one hand, drawing idle patterns at the base of Root’s spine with the other, and checks the screen, “Zoe says ‘incoming,” she grins.

“She’s a very good friend,” Root leans down to bite Shaw’s lip just quickly and then peels herself away, “rinse off and naked, Sameen.” 

“Mmm, yes sir,” Shaw half-snarks, half-seriously responds, and yelps when Root thwaps her on the butt as she wriggles out of the cage of Root’s arms and heads for the bathroom. 

Root watches her walk across the room before grinning to herself and heading for the bedroom. 

It takes Shaw a few minutes to shower, and she comes into the bedroom wrapped in a thin towel, water beaded on her shoulders and arms where she clearly hasn’t even loosely attempted at drying herself. Her hair is up in a messy bun to save it from the shower water, and Root abruptly has a change of heart about her bondage plans. She was gonna just tie Shaw up pretty standard with some rope, but her hair is looking really beautiful and the bed they’re sharing has convenient horizontal bars. She keeps meaning to do some quality hair bondage.

With that in mind, she starts pulling the bed away from the wall, and Shaw comes over to help her. “Worried about the bedframe hitting the wall?” She inquires, a bit of a cheeky note in her voice.

“Naw, just making sure I have room to braid your hair to the frame properly. Dry off and lie down for me, lover. Did you pee? You’re not gonna be moving for a while.”

  
Shaw just shrugs her towel off and starts drying herself vigorously enough for her skin to pinken slightly and her nipples to get hard. Root narrows her eyes at her: the vibe Shaw is giving out definitely has a bratty edge to it. She’s gonna have fun rubbing that away this evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a really bad day and feeling really fucking terrible about everything but mostly writing and the garbage publishing industry so if you could tell me you love me that would be really helpful for my current state of Sad.


	52. Hold On For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** : All smut, hair bondage (being tied up by your hair), threats of panty gags, orgasm denial, orgasm delay, shaw being a cheeky sub, biting, pinching, cuffs, nipple clamps, anal, domination, sadism, masochism, you might get a nail polish kink?, you know the drill.

“Just so you know, if you come without permission tonight you’re not getting off for a week,” Root hums softly as Shaw drops the towel on the floor. 

Shaw feels her eyes go big and she swallows thickly before nodding and making an aborted movement towards the bed, not crawling on until Root gestures for her to. It would be pretty hard for Root to enforce a no self-achieved orgasm ruling, but Shaw wouldn’t put it past her to make sure Shaw’s constantly wound up and not getting any from her so that masturbation doesn’t quite cut it. 

The sheets are soft and cool against her skin as she lies down on her back, and Root’s hands are warm and strong as she positions Shaw how she wants her. Root pads around the end of the bed, and then her fingers are in Shaw’s hair, gently scratching her skull as she pulls out the elastic and combs Shaw’s hair through the rails. 

It takes a long time for her to braid Shaw to the bedframe, and she hums softly while she does so. The light tugging and little sparks of pulling set a warm glow deep in Shaw’s belly, and the team clattering around in the living room when they get home makes her feel exposed and naughty, adding to her arousal. 

Root’s movements are firm and confident, and Shaw moves her head experimentally—or tries to, coming up against completely undeniable restraint before she’s shifted a centimeter. She inhales harshly, the unfamiliar restriction of her head washing her body with the urge to struggle before Root threads her hand through the bars and rests it on Shaw’s breastbone. “You’re okay.” She murmurs, and Shaw is, suddenly, back with Root and the bed and the prospect of a long night of denial ahead of her, making her shiver and her nipples harden. 

“Good girl.” The praise makes Shaw shiver. Root rubs a circle with her palm and then removes her hand, shifting back around and moving onto the bed, swinging her jean clad leg over Shaw’s hip and settling down on her pelvis. It’s probably an illusion, but Shaw could swear she can feel the heat of her through the thick fabric. “Mmm,” Root hums under her breath, just sitting and looking at Shaw until Shaw has to close her eyes with the weight of it, shifting uncomfortably. 

She half hopes Root will blindfold her, but also feels like maybe that would be too much, with the total immobilization of her head, so she grins to lighten the pressure of Root’s gaze that she can still feel burning down her naked chest.

“You planning on doing anything while you’re up there?” She asks, resisting the urge to peek at Root’s face to see how the question went down, and Root rolls her hips slowly in response.

There’s a smirk in her voice when she answers. “Oh lover, I’m planning on doing so many things.”

The weight lifts and Shaw opens her eyes to see Root heading for their bags on the floor. Excited, Shaw tries to raise her head to see what toys Root is fetching, to try and make a guess at what the evening holds specifically, but she can’t get an eyeline and Root’s shielding her movements with her body anyway. 

When Root turns around, she only has something small in her hand, small enough to be covered with her closed fist, and Shaw shifts on the mattress as she wracks her brains for what it could be. Nipple clamps? A bullet vibrator? Clothes pins?

Before she has any more ideas, Root leans over the bed and balances the object on Shaw’s tummy. “Hold that for me.” Shaw inhales and the bottle of black nail varnish wobbles dangerously. Root raises an eyebrow at her, clearly expecting her to try harder to stay still, but Shaw’s feeling a bit wriggly and pent up and wants to get on with the evening, so she deliberately flexes her stomach muscles and the closed bottle tumbles onto its side.

“Good thing that wasn’t open, lover,” Root’s voice is silky and dangerous now and Shaw shivers in pleasure, the cold glass on her stomach rolling into the dip of her hipbone. “Not feeling so well behaved tonight, I see.”

It’s not a question, but daringly, Shaw replies. “Can’t be good every night.”

“Hmm,” Root doesn’t sound impressed, but not like she’s upset, more playful with it, and Shaw smirks, feeling like they’ve agreed she can be naughty and be punished but no one is actually upset.

Root leaves her on the bed while she takes off her clothes, deliberately doing it in Shaw’s peripheral vision so she can’t really  _ see  _ her, just hear the fabric rustle and barely catch flashes of movement out of the corner of her eye.

Music clicks on, fairly quiet, and Shaw wriggles a little as she thinks about how much control she’ll have to exert tonight, to stay quiet, to hold off. 

Then a hand—clenched around something—appears in Shaw’s vision, uncurls slowly and black fabric tumbles out of Root’s hand to land on Shaw’s chest. Panties. Root’s panties, specifically. Shaw shudders, full body, clenches her fingers in the cool sheets.

“Gag, sweetie?” The saccharine tone in Root’s voice and the pointed tap of her finger against her panties on Shaw’s breastbone leaves very little doubt as to what Shaw will be gagged with if she says yes. She shakes her head, not especially turned off by the idea, but if this is gonna be a long scene then a fabric gag is kind of unappealing. She’d rather be quiet than have a dry mouth for the next few hours.

In answer, Root just picks up the panties, dangles them in Shaw’s eyeline for long enough Shaw wonders if they’re gonna be a blindfold, and then tucks them under the pillow next to Shaw’s head. 

Naked now, Root urges Shaw’s legs apart. Her hands are still untied, and she doesn’t really know what to do with them until Root says, “grab the headboard, lover,” as she folds herself crosslegged between Shaw’s knees. 

Shaw hooks her little fingers around the lowest bar, which is about as minimum a ‘grab’ she can maybe get away with, and Root’s grin unfurls slowly on her face. “Oh, I see.” 

And Shaw can’t hide her little smirk, cause Root has the ‘I’m gonna fuck your shit up’ face on, and that is  _ always  _ a good time.

But instead of touching her, or hurting her, Root picks up the nail polish bottle, splays her hand on Shaw’s tummy and hums softly along with the music while she paints her nails. 

By the time she’s done, Shaw’s failing to control the squeezes of her leg muscles at the sight of Root, biting her lip and spreading her black-tipped fingers out, admiring the job she’s done. She just sits there, between Shaw’s legs, and waits for the nail polish to dry. 

The first pinch to Shaw’s inner thigh isn’t too hard, makes her inhale sharply but is easy enough to relax into, to breathe into. However, Root soon makes it clear—as she leaves points of throbbing bruising up and down the meat of Shaw’s thighs—that this is going to go on for some time. 

Shaw’s skin feels tight, sensitive, and the bites of pain sinking into her muscles make her shift unconsciously, which reminds her she can’t move her head, that she’s more helpless right now, even with her arms free, than she’s maybe ever been before, and that feeling builds on the pain to make her shift again, pulling more, unable to move.   

Root hums happily and grabs a fistful of Shaw’s hip, digging her nails in, sending skittering pain to settle hot at the base of Shaw’s spine and she can’t repress her quiet moan, torn between pushing in and pulling away. When Root lets her go, Shaw can feel the sting of small grazes left behind her fingertips, and she clenches involuntarily.

The pinching and grabbing goes on for a while: there’s no clock for Shaw to see, but she counts six songs and has tears in her eyes by the time Root runs her hands proprietarily over Shaw’s sensitive inner thighs in the way that means she’s done with that for now. 

She’s clearly not done, however, with the slow infliction of building pain. Shaw can feel how slick she’s gotten while Root’s been hurting her, and Root drags fingertips over her molten pussy as she leans down and sinks her teeth into the curve over Shaw’s lowest rib. 

It hurts and hurts and hurts and Shaw is tense, pulling at her hair bonds, and Root’s fingers are so soft and gentle on her pussy just teasing idly at her with no real pressure or intention, that Shaw feels like she’s gonna fall right out of her body and up through the ceiling. 

She lets go of the headboard. She doesn’t even really mean to, it just happens, she realises when her hand curls around the warm, soft skin of Root’s shoulder and the agony of the small bite releases as Root sits up and eyes her. Root’s sucking her lower lip and grinning at the same time somehow, and she looks kind of  _ thrilled  _ if Shaw’s honest. She gulps.

Root slides off the bed and pads over to the bags, comes back with a handful of metal and Shaw ends up with her hands cuffed practically on her head, the restraints digging in just a little. Not enough to cut anything off, but enough that Shaw can’t angle her wrists too much without risking losing feeling in her fingers. They’re ‘be good’ handcuffs if she’s ever been in them.

The feel of it, and the sound of the metal sliding on the bars of the bed makes her skin prickle. Root runs a hand approvingly down her chest before picking up the nipple clamps she left on the pillow, tightening them a notch further than they’re usually set at, and clipping them onto Shaw’s nipples without any gentling or stroking or warning. 

It  _ hurts,  _ and Shaw hisses, arching, which makes her hair pull tight, and then Root’s pushing fingers into her slowly before she’s even back on the bed, and Shaw just  _ melts,  _ the combination of the pain-pleasure-touch-metal vibrating together into a buzzing demand in her guts.

Root smirks at her and fucks her until Shaw is sweaty and clenching down and so close, just waiting to be told she can come, it’s right there... and then Root pulls out, leaving Shaw empty and gasping and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Root unclips the clamps from her nipples, pinches them roughly, and then starts leaving red teeth marks on Shaw’s chest, before sitting back to admire her handiwork with a pleased grin. 

_ Oh, yeah.  _ They’re playing how long can Shaw go, and Shaw pretty much forgot in the mix up of all the brilliant foreplay, but her orgasm was swirling in her just moments ago and now she’s remembered how long it’s going to be before she gets to come, and she clenches her fingers into knots above her head and tries to remember how to breathe.

It’s  _ long.  _ Shaw doesn’t know how long, but it’s definitely long. She loses track of the music, gets lost only in the feeling of Root’s mouth on her chest, clamps on her nipples then the feeling of them being taken away again, pinches up and down her thighs, fingers fucking the breath out of her and then retreating. 

At one point, Root switches out for a glove and lube and fucks her in the ass for what feels like it could be hours, all spiralling building sensation—knowing she can’t come without more than that, without something for her clit or her pussy, and clearly enjoying the growing desperation Shaw can’t hide.

She breaks around the fifth time Root pushes four fingers—two from each hand—into her pussy. “Please, Root, please, I can’t,” she begs, breathless and hitching, a little bit choked from how long she’s been quiet, how many words she’s swallowed. 

“Really can’t?” Root inquires, twisting her fingers expertly and sending a rush of heat through Shaw’s whole body, making her quake. 

“Yellow, really can’t,” Shaw moans, her muscles trembling around Root’s fingers as she stills them. She really can’t, can’t hold off, is gonna come whether she likes it or not with anything more. She can taste the sparks of her orgasm curling in the back of her throat; it tastes like pop rocks and lemonade.  

“Better give you a break, then,” Root says calmly, pulls out, dragging her fingers over Shaw’s gspot as she does so and wringing another  _ almost  _ shudder out of her before wriggling up the bed to sit next to her, stroking Shaw’s chest idly with one hand and sliding the other between her own legs.

Jesus.

Root touches herself with full sound effects, pressing her hot and sweaty front up against Shaw, and Shaw moans helplessly, caught up and lost in the heat of it. “Please, please Root.”

“But you were so naughty,” Root gasps, her breath tingling against Shaw’s nipple, her voice still somehow managing to sound smug. “I didn’t think you wanted to come at all tonight.”

“God, Root, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just please,” Shaw flexes, arching her whole body off the bed, rubbing her thighs together and shuddering at the sparks of pain from the bruising stamped into the muscles sending ripples of heat through her.

“Oh, fuck, you’re always so good,” Root moans, coming even as she finishes her sentence, shaking apart next to Shaw and gasping for air as she floats down, squirming even closer so she can rest her cheek on Shaw’s tender, bitten chest. “What else will you give me?” Her voice is raspy and breathless.   
  
“Anything,” Shaw gives it up easily, her whole body demanding the orgasm Root keeps stealing away from her. “Anything you want...”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Root’s still breathing heavily, but she kisses her way hot and wet down Shaw’s stinging, throbbing breasts, soothing her tender nipples with gentle licks and then blessedly continuing to mark a path of kisses down Shaw’s belly until she’s settled between Shaw’s legs.

“Count to one hundred, then you can come,” it sounds deceptively easy, and Shaw starts confident, grateful.

“One, two, three, four,” she counts as fast as she can, desperate to get there, and Root’s mouth is burning hot over her clit and there’s fingers sliding easily back into her needy pussy, and then Root bites gently and digs her free hand violently into Shaw’s bruised thigh and it’s either forty five or forty six, she doesn’t know if she said forty six out loud, but when she guesses, Root lifts her head and shakes it a little. 

Fuck. “One, two, three,” she gets into the high eighties before losing it this time, just thinking how close she is, how soon she’ll be able to let go when a flash of white pain from nails in her nipple drives the numbers, the very idea of counting right out of her head. She almost screams with it, choking the urge down, her whole body so close she doesn’t know if she can go again, if she can hold it off.

The waves of heat are spilling through her whole body, she’s clenched so tight around Root’s fingers she’s hardly moving, her mouth doing all the work, but she slows meaningfully when Shaw doesn’t start counting again. 

“One, two, three.” Shaw concentrates, focuses, pushes all the sensations down to be dealt with later, it’s like torture, but all she has to do is get to one hundred, she can do that, she can do that for Root, and this time she does and she’s coming before she’s finished letting the last syllable fall out of her mouth, breathless and floating as all the tension built up over the last couple of hours sweeps her away. 

She’s uncuffed and untied, somehow, when she peels her eyes open. She’s loose and pliant, warm, feels like her body’s been filled up with syrup while she spun out. Root’s wriggled them over so Shaw’s head is pillowed, free and unbraided, on Root’s chest. She has her hand in Shaw’s hair, and she smiles softly when she sees Shaw focus on her mouth.

“Hey, sweetheart, welcome back,” her voice is soft and affectionate, and Shaw butts her nose into Root’s collarbone. “You wanna get ready for bed or should I just turn the light out?” 

“Brush my teeth for me?” Shaw mumbles hazily, before scraping herself upright at Root’s giggle for the ridiculous suggestion.  
  
Root does dress her in loose shorts and a tank and steer her through the living room, though. 


	53. who Shaped You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mentions of and references to child abuse, child neglect, kidnapping and abduction.

Shaw is  _ delightfully  _ bruised the next day, dark red stains peeking out the bottom of her shorts even when she pulls them down as far as they’ll go, and she grumbles when she discards them in favour of tight jeans.

Root grins smugly at the clothing switch, and Shaw thwaps her halfheartedly in the tummy. “We’re gonna be on the beach next week, you jerk.” There’s zero actual heat in it, though.

“You like showing off,” Root points out, because Shaw definitely does, especially in front of strangers, “and they’re mostly on the inside. Besides, you earned them bruises,” she teases.

Shaw pointedly lifts her shirt up to show her purple-marked chest and stomach, flashing Root, who slides over to get a handful of boobs because otherwise what’s the point. Shaw’s nipples are hard, and Root hums happily as she rubs her palms against them.

“Yeah, this is gonna look great in a bikini,” Shaw grumbles, arching into her hands.

“Yeah,” Root agrees, but genuinely, giving Shaw’s sensitive nipples a last little tweak that makes Shaw breathe in deeply and sway forwards.

“Asshole,” Shaw grins, leaning up for Root’s mouth.

They make out for a little while, Shaw urging Root back towards the bed and straddling her on the edge of it, Root’s hands down the back of Shaw’s jeans, when there’s a knock on the door.

“If you don’t come out of your own accord, I’m gonna come in and get you,” Zoe singsongs merrily.

“Urgh, we’re coming,” Shaw grunts, climbing off Root’s lap reluctantly.

“Shoulda done that earlier, Shaw, it’s time to watch our master-plan unfold. Thug life is on his way to start his shift with Kai.”

“Shit,” Root complains, patting Shaw’s bum until she moves so Root can stand up. “Do you need to check in with Joey?”

“Romeo’s guy should have gotten him an earpiece by now,” Shaw runs her fingers through her hair and heads for the door, “but I really need to shower.”

“Mmm,” Root replies smugly. “I’ll go and make sure we’re all set, you bathe, sticky one.”

“Who’s fault is it that I’m sticky?” Shaw smirks, moving closer, and then there’s another knock on the door and she sighs and spins to yank it open. “Yes, Zoe, we’re well aware it’s time.”

Zoe giggles merrily and eyes Shaw’s chest. “Nice jammy top and jeans combo, nips McGee,” and Shaw shoulder checks her on the way to the bathroom.

Root grabs a sweater off the floor and pulls it on over her thin tshirt and then trundles into the main room. She washed up last night, so she’s good to go, and she pours herself some coffee before curling onto the couch next to Harry and picking up her laptop.

Finch fills her in, and by the time Shaw’s out of the bathroom, they have a bluetooth headset set up that’s linked to Joey, and are tracking Kai and her handler in their vehicle, down the streets of New York. They already have the cameras at the park they usually go to, but they don’t want to take any risks in case it doesn’t go smoothly. 

The car thief Romeo recommended, one Billy Parsons, is prepared to break into the Jeep and let Joey in, assuming they head to the right park. However, the outing is usually over an hour so they should have time to move their players if necessary—and worst case scenario they try again next week if they’re not gonna be able to pull it off and have to pull the plug.

“Is he packing?” Shaw enquires, looking at John.

“Not that I could see, but that doesn’t mean no.”

“Joey has a taser with him,” Shaw settles onto the arm of the couch, knee just touching Root’s shoulder. When she continues speaking it’s clearly to Joey on the bluetooth. “Yeah, looks good, they’re just heading down 54th.”

Root can’t hear Joey’s response, but Shaw gives her a nod and a half-grin that lets her know everything’s good.

“I feel useless,” Zoe declares, lying down on the bunk bed on her front. “JC, come and braid my hair.” Root snorts.

“I’m talking to Kelli,” Joss replies distractedly, typing on her phone, “she’s pretty wound up.”

“Why don’t you order them some groceries and basics for their apartment?” Shaw suggests, surprising Root. “They’re probably not gonna be ready to go shopping right away and not having toilet paper and towels and stuff is the worst.”

“Brilliant,” Zoe yells excitedly, wriggling over to grab Root’s chromebook, “what credit card should I use?” Only Shaw and Zoe could get away with just grabbing Root's chromebook without her making sure nothing untoward is open. 

“Order and then I’ll pay,” Root replies, smirking, and Zoe nods, setting to type away.

Shaw and John keep an eye on Joey and Billy at the park, they’re in a coffee shop opposite. There’s cameras arrayed around, but Romeo says his guy is pretty good, and really all Joey has to do is get in the back of the car, probably noone is gonna pay any attention. And the windows are tinted anyway.

There’s a moment of tension when the Jeep fails to turn on its predicted path, but the team breathes a collective sigh of relief when it takes the next left and circles the block to find parking. Conveniently, the space the guy uses is three blocks away from the park, meaning he won’t have an eyeline on the vehicle at all.

Zoe puts the chromebook down and slithers onto the floor and over to the group so she can see the screens, while Shaw updates Joey in a low, clipped voice.

On the laptop, the man opens his door and hops out, then moves around to the passenger side and opens the door for Kai.

She’s small and skinny, her expression oscillating between excitement—presumably at the one change in routine she gets a week—and a hard, set expression she’s much too young for.

Root doesn’t realise she’s clenching her jaw until Shaw moves closer and brushes her knuckles over Root’s cheek.

Root remembers being small and skinny and afraid of the people around her, knowing they didn’t care about her. She remembers seeing other kids with parents and wondering why theirs smiled at them, why hers just glowered and snapped and made Root fade herself into invisibility just to avoid them. She remembers her mother telling her what a bad kid she was, what a bad baby she was before that—how she never slept or stopped crying and was never normal.  It took her a long time—and Hanna—to really believe it wasn’t her fault. To understand that no kid is responsible for parental abuse, no matter how difficult they were.

Shaw’s hand curling around her neck jerks her out of the slimy thoughts, her fingers brush over the curve of Root’s jaw, thumb smoothing down her pulse point, “okay?” Shaw mouths it, silent so no one notices, and Root nods, forcing her attention back to the screen and deliberately detaching herself from what she’s seeing.

Shaw leaves her hand on Root’s nape and it helps.

Joey waits a good twenty minutes of Kai mutinously refusing to let the man push her on the swings, doing it herself even though her legs are way too short. Root wonders how it’s possible that no one’s ever noticed, ever helped the kid who’s obviously afraid of the man she’s with.

The car thief, Billy, is a generic looking white dude with a cocky grin, and he pops the car door in less than a minute, his body language completely unremarkable. Root is very impressed by how smooth he is. She can’t see what he’s doing with his hands or the reader he has, but she likes his attitude and makes mental notes about how he’s standing and moving himself.

He hops into the front seat, Joey slides into the back, and then they drive off. This is part of the plan, to loop the block, park again and for Billy to get out—that way anyone watching won’t just see a grown man get into the backseat and stay there.

It’s less than a minute after they’ve pulled out when Kai falls off the swing.

She lands hard, it’s easy to see even through the fuzzy street cameras, she’s screwing her face up and crying in big, heaving sobs, and her hands and one arm are bloodied black in the greyscale view.

“Shit, Joey, get back there now.” Shaw doesn’t explain why, but the thug scoops Kai up off the floor and starts walking across the playground with long strides.

This isn’t okay, if he comes back and the car’s not there, he’ll be spooked. They might change locations, change routine, step up security. Cyril is still out there and no one knows what he might be capable of doing if he thinks someone’s making a move on the kid. They might even cut their losses with Kelli and kill Kai, Root thinks, her mind spinning.

The thug is waiting to cross the road around the corner from the block he left the Jeep at, and Joey’s stuck in traffic two blocks further on. They could park up elsewhere, hope the man assumes he’s having a weird day, which was the plan if anyone jacks their spot, but even with Joey squatted right down in the backseat it’s far from ideal.

“Got the crosswalk,” Harry mutters, his fingers flying over the keyboard, and Root swallows heavily, Shaw’s fingers twitch on her neck.   
  
Okay, that’s good, if Harry can keep the lights red for a bit, the guy won’t be able to get back. He’s got his hands full with squiggling, crying Kai, and people are giving them concerned looks though. Root sees it on his face before he makes the decision, and her heart leaps into her throat, choking her as he runs out into two lanes of traffic.


	54. In Which John Has To Think About Root's Dick, Poor Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: continued references to child abuction, abuse and neglect.  
> mentions of packing dildos

The thug jinks across the road, deftly avoiding an incoming taxi, not hampered at all by the screaming child. 

The Jeep turns the corner. 

Harry types frantically, the lights change, and suddenly the man finds himself swamped by people going in the other direction, and they gain thirty seconds before he’s clear of the crowd.

The Jeep pulls into a parking space and Billy dives out of the driver’s side door, slams it behind him and vanishes into a sidestreet just as the guard rounds the corner.

The Jeep is one spot further down than it was, and parked at a bit of an angle, and if anything gives them away, this is it. 

Everyone’s leaning forward, tension strumming through the room, Joss is typing away on whatsapp, clearly still talking to Kelli.

The man opens the passenger door, pops Kai into her seat and belts her in. He hasn’t even attempted to clean up the blood and gravel sticking to her forearm, and Root’s stomach is boiling with nerves and anger. 

“So far, so good,” John murmurs so softly it’s almost inaudible. 

The man walks around the front of the car, leans his hip on his door for a second, and types something out on his phone. Root curses, wishing they had a way to bluejack him from here. Hopefully it’s just about the kid hurting herself. 

They don’t have much longer to wait, the man jumps into the driver’s seat and a moment later, the car pulls out. 

This is the tensest part, the most dangerous part. Joey has to disable the man without scaring the kid too much, pull him into the backseat, restrain him and drive off like nothing happened, all without crashing the car. 

Fortunately, Harry still has the street lights. 

“Tell Joey in two more lights,” Harry mutters, and Shaw obliges.

“One more....” there’s a drawn out pause, “now,” Harry snaps as the light in front of the Jeep goes amber and then flicks to red. 

Everyone shuffles closer, like they’re gonna be able to see, Shaw grits her teeth like she’s trying to restrain herself from speaking, and then, less than two minutes after the Jeep coasted to a halt she relaxes, tension melting out of her.

“Joey’s good.” 

The collective exhale is loud enough that it’s a bit funny, or maybe just the relief of the high strung feeling of not knowing what’s happening. Zoe lets out a small laugh and kicks her feet. “Alright, go team. Anyone else feel like we should start professionally like, saving people’s butts?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m joining the police,” Joss deadpans, flicking her in the ear. “It’s one thing helping someone out when it’s something to do with us but we can’t just go around looking for trouble. How would we even know who needed help?”

Root smirks a little, rubbing her thumb down the side of the laptop, and Shaw narrows her eyes at her. 

“Alright, so Joey’s for the airport. Did you tell Kelli Kai’s okay?” John asks.

“Yep,” Joss replies, “and then Joey’s just gonna leave the guy in the trunk somewhere, Harry’s sorting out the camera evidence of him getting in, and... we’re good?”

“Think so,” Root agrees, stretching, “and we still have like a whole evening in gay Paree.” 

“Well, lets not count our chickens until the girl is safely back with her mother,” Harry points out, his lips pursed in concentration as he erases the evidence of Joey’s car theft, just in case the guy’s bosses can get access to that kind of thing.

“I vote we go to the gay bar John got handcuffed in,” Zoe declares gleefully. “That sounded excellent.”

Root feels more than sees Harry shift and glances over, to see him going pink, “any particular reason why we shouldn’t check it out, Finch?” She inquires, feeling kind of buzzed on success and like messing with his clear discomfort is a great idea.

“No. Just... they really liked John. We have to get you an engagement ring,” Harry grumbles to his partner, twisting his own ring on his finger.

Shaw cracks up, “taking ownership, nice. Let’s stop at a jewelry store and get something with diamonds.”

John wrinkles his nose, leaning out of his seat so he can poke Shaw with his toes, “please, I would get a tasteful, simple ring. Like tungsten carbide or something.”

“You’re such a soft butch,” Shaw snickers, rolling to her feet, “is it the sort of bar Root can wear leather pants and a dick to?” 

Oh, Root licks her lips, swallowing the little pleased noise that threatens to sneak out. Outfit requests. Shaw is clearly feeling her oats as well, today.

“Uh, I guess?” John shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t sound convinced one way or the other, but Shaw grins wickedly at Root anyway. 

“Nice. I gotta eat. Who wants french toast?” 

The answer is everyone, Root and Shaw not the only lazy morning havers who didn't eat yet, so they all sprawl out on the floor with the french windows open and stuff their faces before heading out once they get confirmation Kai and Kelli are on a plane to Sacramento.

The late afternoon weather is gorgeous, so they make their way over to Notre Dame. The gothic cathedral is extremely impressive, but after listening to Zoe talking about how cramped the stairwell is and how trapped you are at the top, Shaw and Root both decide they’d rather admire it from outside. 

Shaw finds a smooth stone bench to sit on with a decent view and hauls out the sketchbook Root has come to expect her to carry these days, flipping it open to a fresh page and squinting up at the sunlit monolith.  
  
Root pulls her leather clad legs up onto the bench and lies down with her head on Shaw’s thigh under the sketchpad, which Shaw obligingly moves a bit so it’s not resting on Root’s ear. They stay there until the team come back to collect them, Root listening to the soft scratch of Shaw’s pencil dragging over the slightly rough paper, imagining the bold black lines she’s leaving behind her hand. 


	55. Absolutely Shitfaced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: Shaw pole dancing. Super Drunk Sex, **accidental Somnophilia!** Check in at the bottom for more notes if you would like a clinical and detailed warning before you go in. There's a line.

Dinner ends up being a relaxed, cafe affair with a couple of drinks at a low key bar before they decide it’s late enough to head to the site of Harold and John’s previous debauchery. Shaw is thrilled to find that the dark, long bar has not only a dance floor, but also poles. Zoe is simultaneously amazing and terrible at pole dancing, and Shaw fully anticipates an evening of hilarity.

One full side of the bar is booths, with the wall above them covered only in mirrors, and the Team finds a six person space relatively easy as it’s still pretty quiet. Shaw shucks off her coat, about to drag Joss to the bar for carrying purposes, when a flamboyant man clad only in tight, gold lycra shimmies up to the table with leather straps over his chest holding holsters full of bottles at his hips.

“Ah, Jean!” He pronounces John the French way, “mon petit chou-fleur, you have returned to me!” The man almost falls into John’s lap, accidentally on purpose, as he leans down to kiss John’s reddening cheeks.

“Uh, hi, Armand. These are my friends,” John waves haphazardly at everyone as Harold puts his hand firmly on John’s knee.

“Any friend of sweet Jean!,” Armand continues joyously, “and I see you have brought your husband, Mr Finch, again, although I ask you not to.” He gives them a cheeky grin, and a hip waggle.

“New best friend,” Zoe declares, “sorry JC, I’m breaking up with you for Armand.” She grins delightedly as Armand hoots with pleasure and hooks a pile of cheap plastic single use shot glasses off the tower arching up from his drink holsters.

“Delighted, I am sure,” he snickers, popping six glasses down in quick succession, “you take the French Flag, I think,” he doles out blue, white, and then red liqueur carefully into each glass without waiting for an affirmation, and Shaw grabs hers immediately, along with Zoe, who knocks it against Shaw’s and chucks it back without asking what is it in.

She sputters a little but otherwise is fine, so Shaw throws hers down, and slides a glass over to Root, who takes hers with JC and a small salute to Armand.

The music is loud enough to make conversation difficult, but not impossible, and they hang out at the booth getting progressively more lubricated on colourful shots with John’s new boyfriend until Zoe drags JC and Shaw onto the dance floor. Root stays at the table with the boys, ostensibly ‘to protect them’, watching Shaw with a little smirk as she dances with the girls.

It’s not long before Zoe’s up on the pole, pulling off some fairly impressive moves, spinning and whirling around with confidence. Shaw half watches, amused, and works up a nice sweat on the dance floor herself.

Root’s hands sliding around her stomach are instantly recognisable, Shaw doesn’t even miss a beat as Root presses up behind her, rocking their hips side to side in easy rhythm. She just pushes her hand up into Root’s hair, pulling her closer against Shaw’s back.

JC grins at them both and grabs a shot from John as he joins them, proffering a tray of the blue-white-reds that have a sweet sticky aftertaste and go down easy.

Shaw takes hers, whirls around to kiss Root, sharing the taste of her shot and humming happily as Root licks into her mouth briefly before letting her go to throw her hands up in the air as Beyonce comes on. Root  _loves_ Beyonce. 

Seeing the Team has united, Zoe abandons her new friends and her pole and shimmies over, beckoning for Shaw’s ear.

“No one believes you can do the leg walking in the air thingy,” she yells, loud enough for Shaw to wrinkle her nose.

“So what?” She replies, not losing the beat for a second as she pinches Root’s butt just cause it was right there for a split second and looked pinchable.

“Two tags to prove them wrong?” Zoe hollers, grabbing Shaw’s hand and spinning under it, sparkling lights catching on her sequined top.

Shaw shrugs, what the hell, she’s probably sober enough to do it, or at worst fail gracefully, “yeah, alright. Get us another round in!”

She detangles from Zoe’s monkey grip, sliding through the crowd and pulling in next to the pole, waiting for the current occupant to leave.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Zoe tugging on Root’s arm, making her turn to watch, and the rest of the Team start making their way through the milling dancing people.

The poledancer drops into a split and then gets up, to a round of enthused applause from her friends, who are giggling and being silly, and Shaw cracks her neck as she steps up to the pole.

Root’s watching, Shaw can feel her watching, so instead of going straight for the airwalk she grabs the pole with one hand, leans out and spins herself around it, grinning just a little. She’s gonna _ruin_ Root. Root is always a sucker for Shaw dancing, whether Shaw’s putting on a private show or they’re pressed together in a club, but usually the power balance in their relationship is all Root winding Shaw up and making her wait... not tonight, though.

Shaw hooks her ankle around the pole, grateful she’s wearing slippery jeans, and slides around it down to the ground on her knees, meeting Root’s eyes as she pushes back up. John has his phone out, that little fucker, she’ll have to steal it later.

Root’s looking at her with the slightly pursed lips and heavy eyes she gets when Shaw is being a little shit and Root fucking _loves_ it, but won’t admit that she loves it, so tries to keep this like, thin edge of unimpressed energy over top of her rampant heart eyes. Shaw backs up against the pole, arches up ass first, so she slides up against the metal, and Root tightens her hand on her empty shotglass compulsively, until it cracks in her hand, making her look down in shock.

Shaw smirks and grabs the pole over her head, gets a better grip on the pole, pulls her shoulder tight against it, and lifts herself off the floor. It’s a tough move, pulls on her shoulders, abs, she walks her feet up into the air like she’s climbing invisible stairs, until her leg is high enough above her head to wrap her calf around the pole and take her weight.

She gracefully slides down, presses her hands to the floor and rolls clear and to her feet. She can feel the burn in her abs, hasn’t done that in way too long, but she’s kept her training up pretty well this summer, and nothing’s actually hurt, just protesting mildly.

It’s definitely worth it for the look on Root’s face as she sidles over and claims her victory shot from Zoe, who’s grinning widely and pointing at Shaw in triumph.

It turns out Zoe bet a bottle of tequila on Shaw pulling it off, and she claims her prize with triumph, which of course means the Team get fucking hammered, staggering home in the wee hours of the morning in varying states of disarray.

 

* * *

Shaw laughs as Root tries to take her pants off and stumbles backwards, bouncing off the edge of the bed and sliding to the floor, “smooth, Moosh.”

“I’m always smooth, I’m the smoothest. Come here so I can fuck your brains out,” Root giggles, clambering awkwardly to her feet.

“Sure, you can’t walk but you’re gonna fuck my brains out,” Shaw is really horny though, so she slides forward and wraps her hands around Root’s leather-clad hips, tucking her fingers under the loose waistband—Root had managed the flies before she sat on the floor.

Less gently, Root shoves Shaw down onto the bed and climbs on top, running her hands clumsily up under Shaw’s shirt, her body heavy and hot on top of Shaw. They make out messily, drunk and sloppy, getting the giggles when they almost fall off the bed wriggling out of their clothes so they can press up against each other naked. Root discards her dick along with her pants.

She has other things she can use though. “Shit,” Shaw moans quietly, when Root pushes inside her, rough and hard, without any teasing, Shaw arching up to meet her easily.

Root stays on top of her, pushing her into the mattress, “Touch yourself for me,” she groans into Shaw’s neck and Shaw snickers, wriggling her hand down between their sweaty stomachs and pushing fingers against her clit.

“You too hammered to do it yourself?” She inquires breathlessly, groaning as Root curls her fingers just right, she knows Shaw's body so well.

“Absolutely shit faced,” Root mumbles in reply, biting down on Shaw’s tendon, her finger movements getting progressively more uncoordinated, but getting the job done.

“Fuck, you feel so good, can you, a little more, please?” Shaw shivers and pushes up off the bed. Root’s a heavy, warm weight on top of her, pinning her to the mattress, but her fingers are slowing down, slowing instead of speeding up... “Root, fuck.” Shaw pushes at her shoulder with her free hand.

Root doesn’t answer, and Shaw groans in frustration, wriggling to get more friction, rubbing hard and fast circles on her clit.

“Shit, Root, stay with me,” she mumbles, but Root’s body has fully relaxed, and Shaw tries to squirm out from under her, but she’s hammered too and she can’t quite make it happen. Root’s fingers are still half inside her, but Root is huffing sleepy, thick breaths into her throat and Shaw is super close to coming, so she mentally shrugs and starts rubbing her clit again, coming just moments later, gripping on Root’s quiescent fingers.

It takes her a while to recover enough to maneuver Root off her, the floppy girl mumbles something incoherent and sprawls out next to Shaw.

Shaw looks around the room before wriggling close enough to rest her head on Root’s shoulder and throw her arm over Root’s hip, curling her hand around the curve of the bone and falling asleep immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Root passes right the fuck out while she's fucking Shaw, and Shaw goes ahead and finishes on her fingers anyway. It's not dub con or anything, Root would be fine with it if she had known she was gonna K.O :)
> 
> Also, my poor hardworking beta LapseinJudgement has been overcome with school work and has had to bow out of betaing this story, all mistakes are mine and mine alone, hopefully you haven't been too spoiled by the excellent beta service and continue to enjoy the story :D


	56. She is VERY Impressive

“Oh my goddddddd,” Root feels like she might actually be dying, but the poking fingers do not stop poking her, so she attempts to wriggle away, nausea washing her.

“Wake up, hammer pants, we have a plane to catch,” Shaw singsongs cheerily, right in Root’s ear, and Root moans in protest.

“No, I can’t. Leave me here, if I survive I’ll come tomorrow.” She thinks this is a great plan, she’s just gonna stay riiiight here.

“You’d still haveta get up and get out of the airbnb, so I think not.” Shaw rolls of the bed and pulls the blankets off Root so she’s hit with cold air.

“Why are you being so mean?” Root complains, groaning as she pulls herself upright and Shaw gives her a shit-eating grin. "The first time I was hungover you went down on me really gently until I felt better!" 

“Probably sexual frustration, Mr I Can Totally Do You, Oh No Wait I Passed Out Inside You.” Shaw raises a sharp eyebrow.

“Oh... fuck,”  Root abruptly remembers the previous night, and is overcome with the urge to cry, which she manages to repress, but she’s sure her lip trembles.

“Hmph,” Shaw winds her hand into Root’s hair and scratches her head gently until Root obeys the slight tug and leans over to rest her head on Shaw’s sternum, “if you’re gonna be this pathetic it’s no fun mocking you.”

“Sorry,” Root whimpers, and Shaw laughs quietly, her tummy muscles vibrating.

“S’alright, I’ll save it for when you’re recovered. Want to try to eat something? I packed your stuff but we gotta go in like half an hour.”

“M gonna throw up,” Root decides instead, pulling away from Shaw abruptly and making a dash for the bathroom. 

 

***

Vomiting helps a bit, and Root feebly manages to sip on a water bottle and eat some dry crackers in the taxi to the airport, which she insisted they get because she would Die on public transit right now. She told them she was cabbing it and that everyone else may as well come with her. Everyone except Shaw is a bit worse for wear, ranging from Zoe who is unusually quiet and being steered by JC, to John who’s also got the voms and they agree without much complaint.

Root naps at the gate, lying down on the floor with her head on her bag, and letting everyone else take charge.

On the plane, Shaw makes several mile high jokes, and Root decides they definitely have to fuck on the  _ next  _ plane they’re on, but not this one, because she still thinks she might be dying. Fortunately, it’s a really short flight.

The Amsterdam airport has a convenient train link that gets them pretty much all the way to the apartment they’ll be staying at, a massive and expensive three bedroom loft with a wonderful canal view. Root crawls into the first bed she finds and leaves the others to it. 

 

***

She wakes up with a hand in her hair, and the smell of Shaw close enough she wriggles into her body without opening her eyes. Shaw is naked and warm next to her.

“Evening,” Shaw snickers, tugging gently on Root’s ear. “How’re you doing?” 

“Never drinking again,” Root mumbles into the warm skin of her hip, abruptly realising the position they’re in is a direct reflection of the usual pose Shaw wakes up in after a scene. “Thanks for not leaving me to die alone on the streets of Paris.”

“Welcome,” Shaw slides her hand down and scratches the point of Root’s shoulder blade gently, “you think you can eat something?”

“Fuck, I’m starving,” Root abruptly realises, and Shaw snickers.

“We got pizza, I’ll get you some. Want a beer?” 

“Uuuuurrrrrgh,” Root protests at the mere idea of it, and Shaw gives her a lopsided grin that looks a lot like she’s gonna be teasing Root again now she’s more alive. It’s soft teasing, though, it doesn’t feel mean.

Shaw comes back with pizza, and pops Angel on netflix while Root eats it. “We went to the Contemporary museum while you were out, since that seemed to be the one you gave the least shits about,” Shaw informs her, and Root grins around her pizza.

“Not really my jam, true. I’d rather look at the canals.” 

“Well we have tickets for a boat tour tomorrow, and then we thought we’d do the House of Bols, since Zoe is dying for a chance to show off her cocktail making skills.”

“I’m assuming Zoe already bought weed, judging on your general attitude,” Root rests her hand on top of Shaw’s on her thigh, Shaw is always a bit more touchy and demonstrative when she’s stoned, like she calculates less what that might mean, might look like. 

“Accurate, we’ve been baked all day. There are so many options, Zoe’s got like five new datefriends already and all of them work in weed shops. She's out with _two_ of them right now.”

“She’s very impressive,” Root smirks.

“It’s the sheer level of energy I think, like she’s willing to put in so much effort to hit on people. It’s a numbers game... if you hit on literally everyone a decent percentage will bang you.” Shaw gently swirls her thumb over Root’s hipbone.

“True, even a one percent success rate looks impressive if you hit on a hundred people a day,” Root lolls sideways, blinking up at Shaw, “sorry I passed out on you.”

“ _ In me _ ,” Shaw corrects, the corner of her mouth twitches, “you can make it up to me when you’re less barfy. We got a nausea reduction strain if you wanna try that?” 

“Sure,” Root decides, wriggling upright and stopping momentarily to suck gently on Shaw’s soft neck, god it feels good in her mouth.

“If you pass out on me again, that’s it,” Shaw declares, wriggling clear, “I’ll tell my mom when we’re visiting and you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“We’re visiting your mom?” Root inquires, stretching idly and then squirming out of bed and straightening her jammies.

“I have to go for Christmas this year, cause last year was at the Casa, we trade off,” Shaw suddenly gets the full body awkwards, shifting away from Root and not meeting her eyes, “I thought maybe you’d come too.”   
  
“Sounds like a fun time,” Root agrees easily, keeping her tone light in an effort to lift some of Shaw’s discomfort, rewarded by her relaxing almost imperceptibly. “What sort of Christmas do you guys do?”

“Well... we don’t actually celebrate Christmas, it’s just we both get vacation time. And usually I have a shit ton of school work to do anyway, but this year I guess I’ll be off from soccer and my work will just be to not get fat.”

Root pinches the sparse squishy part of Shaw’s hip and grins, “I’ll keep you in shape.”

“You ever been to New York?” Shaw inquires, ignoring the innuendo with an eyeroll and a half-smile.

“Yeah, but only for work, I’ve never done the things there.” Root pads to the door, running her fingers through her hair.

“Cool,” Shaw replies, and just like that it seems they have Christmas vacation plans with Shaw’s mom. 


	57. Beaches, Balls and Bikinis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> accidental scrote sightings, mentions of outdoor sexiness but no follow through. Or only a very small amount of groping.

Amsterdam passes in a haze of smoke and sunny weather, days spent sitting by canals and walking around the gorgeous city. It’s a welcome relaxation after the unexpected drama of Paris, and they’re all feeling pretty lazy and low key. Root, Shaw and Zoe especially enjoy the sex museum, which the boys opt out of completely and Joss good-naturedly ambles along for, without nearly the same level of excitement or interest. 

The flight to Rome is quick and painless, and the sun streams down on them as they disembark the plane. They have a short and fairly pleasant bus ride to Ostia where they’ll be staying for ten days to relax on the beach, sightsee in Rome and take a few day trips to Tivoli and Monterotondo and the like. 

They’re staying in a normal hotel for this last part of their trip, and have scored adjoining rooms on one side of the corridor and a single suite on the other. Root and Shaw take the room next to Zoe and Joss, leaving the door open while they unpack and dance around to Zoe’s Shenanigans playlist. 

The room has huge, glass double doors leading onto a shared balcony, and Root slides them open, moving into the sun and resting her arms on the cold metal of the balcony, letting the chill seep into her skin. The hotel patio restaurant leads directly onto white-gold sand, which is a wide strip right now although Root can see the evidence of high tide mere metres from the edge of the flagstones.  

Light breaks on the soft, white topped waves as they roll languidly toward shore, and Root inhales the scent of salt and freshness.

“We’ve never been on a beach together,” Shaw murmurs, sliding up next to Root and letting their elbows knock together as she props her arms and leans down, up on her tip toes.

“I’ve been looking forward to it,” Root tilts her head to grin at Shaw, momentarily taken aback by how gorgeous she is, the sunlight making her skin glow luminously golden, catching on the fine hairs framing her face that hold a reddish tint in the right light.

“Gonna have to dip your white ass in sunscreen though,” Shaw smirks, and then straightens and shifts slightly away from Root as Joss and Zoe join them on the balcony.

“You are unbelievably translucent, unlike me.” Zoe agrees with Shaw, flopping into a handy sunlounger. She’s wearing an enormous straw hat that casts interesting shadows over her face, and bikini clad chest.

Shaw leans over to compare her arm to Zoe’s. “You’re actually looking pretty tan.” She observes, and then Joss puts her arm next to them both on Shaw’s side.

“Mhmm.”

They all grin, and Root wriggles onto Zoe’s chair with her, “should we grab the boys and go to the beach?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, as sunning themselves on the balcony isn’t nearly as good as doing it on the gorgeous sand, even if they do have to spend ten minutes digging for swimmies and towels and beach stuff. 

Root has to swallow a literal laugh out loud at John’s small, tight black trunks. It’s the gayest look she’s ever seen on him, but when they pad out onto the hot sand it rapidly becomes apparent that he’s wearing a lot more than most. Speedo clad men are everywhere she looks, and she pulls a face as she gets an unexpected and unpleasant flash of scrote where someone has tucked very poorly and is doing beach yoga.

Shaw leads the way almost half a mile down the beach, past knots of tourists towards a rocky formation that marks the end of the sand. They pull in in a thankfully empty patch large enough that the dulcet sounds of screaming children are muted and distant. 

“Make out with me, I have to get the image of testicles out of my head,” Root complains dramatically, flopping onto the soft blanket provided by the hotel as soon as Joss and John have spread it out.

“Okay!” Zoe declares, trying to fling herself at Root in a helter-skelter whirl of limbs, but Shaw intercepts and tackles Zoe onto the sand, rolling her over until she taps on the hot surface, laughing uncontrollably. 

Shaw clambers off her, and then crawls right onto Root, straddling her hips and leaning down to kiss her. It is  _ much  _ too erotic for appropriate beach behaviour, so Root shoves her off and wriggles out from under her before their lips make contact.

“Hey,” Shaw complains, sprawling on the blanket. 

“You’ve gotten sand  _ everywhere  _ and we’ve only just sat down,” Harold complains in a put-upon voice, his beige cargo pants and white tshirt clothing choices heavily implying he won’t be swimming or sunbathing. 

“It’s a beach, Finch, there’s always sand everywhere.” Shaw smirks up at him, blocking the sun with one hand above her eyes. “Who wants to go swimming.”

“I need to bake for a bit first,” Root decides, but Zoe and John all decide to head in the water straight away. 

Root and Harry settle down in some blessed quiet with their kindles, comfortable silence draping over them both. 

Root must have dozed off under her floppy hat, cause the next thing she knows there are shockingly cold drips startling her out of her warm cozy. “You’re burning,” Shaw squats down next to her, chilly water spattering from her soaked locks. 

“Balls,” Root grunts, struggling into a sitting position and eyeing herself up. She’s pinked up a little over her chest, but it doesn’t look too bad through her sunnies. Regardless, she obediently lets Shaw smooth sunscreen all over her, including unnecessarily deep into her bikini cups. Harry has his back to them, though, and the rest of the Team are still mucking about in the water.

“Coming in?” Shaw inquires, with a tweak of Root’s nipple that makes her inhale and narrow her eyes.

“Are you bucking for me to take you over these rocks and find a place to have you practise keeping quiet?” She inquires softly, curling her fingers around Shaw’s wrists with meaning.

“Oh, definitely,” Shaw replies breezily, “but first you should come and cool off in the water.”

They don’t manage to find a spot on the beach, but the hotel room has a big bed and wide open windows, so Shaw gets to practise anyway. She does a very good job, even Root has to admit. 

 


	58. Can't Keep My Hands To Myself {I mean I could but why would I want to?}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Public sex, public masturbation, mile high club, being very quiet, being very sneaky. marked with a rule

“Can you believe it’s over?” Zoe asks, heaving her massive backpack onto the weighing scales for the smartly dressed agent. “We were planning for longer than we were away!”

“Speak for yourself,” Shaw grunts, dawdling behind her waiting to drop her own bag off, handing her passport over to the agent when she asks for it. “I did very little planning.”

“Because we did it for you and you hate talking,” Joss points out in a reasonable tone, gathering everyone else’s passports and passing them over. 

“Facts,” Shaw agrees, grinning.

It doesn’t take long to check in, and they find a spot near their gate where they abandon Harry—who doesn’t want to walk around, Root—who just wants to read her book regardless of the fact she’s gonna be stuck on a plane for the next twelve hours, and Zoe—who’s exhausted from an all-nighter with some Italian friends she made the night before. 

Shaw and Joss wander off to mooch around the duty free. Shaw makes good use of her heavy lifting skills to invest in a large amount of liquor, and an almost equally large amount of chocolate. 

When they head back to the group, it’s pretty much boarding time and they file into the line and then onto the plane with a variety of hangdog expressions. Shaw figures they must be sad about the end of their vacation, but if she’s honest she’s kind of looking forward to some time alone without things to do every day.

Zoe takes the window seat, Joss next to her, and then Root with Shaw on the aisle and John and Harry in front of them. This delights Shaw because it’s very easy to carefully place little pieces of chocolately foil from her Toblerone into John's hair. 

She gets busted before they even take off, and endures John’s hissed threats with a wide grin. 

“Do you want to get a dog?” Root inquires from beside Shaw, scrolling on her phone. Before Shaw can reply, she keeps talking. “I hope the answer is yes... Because I just adopted a dog.”

“What?” Shaw turns to look at her, along with the rest of the team, while the remaining passengers find their seats and settle in. 

“I put myself on the waiting list for a trained puppy, and they just emailed me to say they have a dog for me.” 

Shaw narrows her eyes, trying to figure out what to say. “What kind of dog?” She eventually asks, suspicious. She likes dogs but she’s not gonna have a terrible rat-dog, Root can take care of it by herself if it’s  an ugly purse beast.

“She’s a mix. Bulldog, rottweiler, golden lab mix. Here.” Root passes her phone over, showing Shaw a picture of a gorgeous brown and black dog with the classic rottweiler markers on her face but heavier set and with the friendly lab smile. 

“Huh,” says Shaw, chewing her lip. 

“I can pull out, if you’re not up for that,” Root says nervously, and Shaw wishes they weren’t having this conversation in front of everyone, who are all pretending not to be listening but clearly are. 

“The apartment’s pretty small,” Shaw points out, feeling a bit wrong-footed. 

“The dog park is right outside, though.” Root sounds really uncomfortable now, and Shaw blinks, thinking.

“It’ll be nice to have a pup to take for runs,” she eventually says, carefully, rewarded by Root’s face lightening up. “What’s her name?”

“Attila,” Root grins, clearly relieved, and Shaw relaxes feeling like the conversation has stopped being precarious.

“Nice,” she nods, “plus I’ll be out of town a bunch for soccer so she can look after you while I’m away.” 

Root just nudges her shoulder into Shaw’s companionably and settles back to watch the flight attendants doing their predictable run through. Shaw looks through Attila’s whole profile, until she’s satisfied Root has picked a good dog. 

They’re about six hours into their flight, most people asleep on the darkened plane, when Shaw wakes up to Root worming her hand under the blanket onto Shaw’s lap and squeezing her leg.

* * *

 

Heat flushes her, and she slowly eases her legs apart, risking a slow glance around to see Joss and Zoe have switched places, Joss sleeping curled up against the window and Zoe leaning on her shoulder, snoring quietly. On the other side of the aisle is a large man with an eyemask covering most of his face. Good enough. 

Her jeans are tight against her pussy and Root works her hand into the warm crevice, slumping over to lean on Shaw’s neck, her eyes closed but her breath deliberate and hot. Shaw shivers and closes her own eyes almost completely, looking out at the dark and quiet plane through her lashes. 

Root tugs on her knee, and Shaw shifts sideways, closer, the arm of the chair digging into her hip a little. She wishes they’d raised it, but to do so now would move too much, be too obvious.

Her heart climbs into her throat when Root eases her other hand into the game, curling closer into Shaw so she’s practically sideways. Shaw can feel Root’s grin pressed into her neck.

The plane is quiet except for the loud hum that always seems to pervade aircraft, the low level chatter of a few people not sleeping, and the occasional thud or trundling noise as staff move around, doing their thing. 

Shaw pulls her leg up carefully, bracing her knee against the back of the chair in front of her, making a blanket tent that shields Root’s hands touching her completely, without draping noticeably over anything moving. 

Root breathes, “good girl,” into her throat and pops her jeans button, Shaw swallows the moan that rises up in her at the brush of soft fingers over her sensitive stomach. 

Shaw can feel her zip being inched down, shifts her hips as subtly as she can to try and flatten the angle, sucks her tummy in when Root tucks her fingers under Shaw’s panty elastic and scritches softly. 

She wants to exhale loudly, to pant, to lift her hips up and get Root’s hand down where she’s starting to throb and ache to be touched, but she’s hyper aware of all the people around them, the danger of being caught. Last time she fucked on a plane it was with a cute girl with a shaved head who’d made easily-interpretable eye contact with Shaw on her way to the bathroom. A tilted head and a raised eyebrow. Shaw’d been more concerned with the possibility she’d misinterpreted the signals than she had been about getting busted. But fucking in a seat... unless someone pulls the blankets off them—Shaw deliberately shifts so the blanket is pinned between her knee and the seat—how would anyone even know?

As long as she doesn’t break her silence.

Root nuzzles into her neck, breathing right on Shaw’s pulse point, “when I’m done with you you’re gonna suck my fingers clean,” she murmurs.

Shaw clenches down, sparking heaviness filling her legs. She nods, so subtly as to be almost imperceptible, and pushes her shoulders back into the seat when Root eases down into her panties proper, wriggling her fingers into the tight space between Shaw’s thighs.

The angle, the tightness of Shaw’s unbuttoned jeans, the awkwardness of the way they’re sitting. It should mean that it’s not that good, but Root’s fingertips are soft and cool against Shaw’s labia, stroking, stroking, until she’s spread enough wetness she can ease between the soft lips, swirl over Shaw’s entrance making her bite the inside of her cheek. 

It seems like Root wants to go slowly, even though there’s the danger that any moment, someone will wake up. Not that it really matters, although there would definitely be plenty of teasing. Zoe would probably let them finish, but Joss would look at them pointedly until they retreated to the bathroom or stopped. 

Shaw breathes out slowly and curls her hips forwards just slightly, the pressure of the seat in front beginning to make her knee ache. Root nips at her throat and rubs over Shaw’s whole pussy, soft and slow, avoiding her clit.

When she pushes inside, it’s unbearably slow, figuring out the angle and curving her hand around Shaw, her palm fitting snug against Shaw’s clit until she works her other hand down over Shaw’s tummy and slides it into Shaw’s pants, pushing fingertips against her clit in a smooth, swirling movement.

Shaw can taste blood, hear it rushing in her ears, Root is pressed tight against her side and it must be horribly uncomfortable with both her arms over Shaw, both her hands touching her, but she’s breathing in hot little aroused pants against Shaw’s neck and Shaw knows Root can feel how close she is, so none of it matters very much.

Root bites Shaw’s neck and she comes with a shudder, kicking her foot out under the chair in front without meaning to, hoping no one noticed the jerking movement or the fact she’s breathing heavily, albeit as quietly as she’s able to. 

Root strokes Shaw for just a moment more, then slides her hands out carefully, lifting one up and brushing her thumb over Shaw’s lower lip.

Shaw obediently opens, turning her head to face Root, away from the aisle, letting Root slide her fingers onto Shaw’s tongue and being washed with a small aftershock of pleasure at the taste of her own come on Root’s fingers. 

She sucks the very faintest last sparks of flavour off Root and then relaxes against her seat back, glancing around to confirm that indeed, no one has noticed anything amiss. 

Root lifts her head, grins at Shaw and then sits back, wriggling until she can lift the chair arm out of her way and into the slot between the seats, then lifts her arm for Shaw to gratefully slide under, curling into Root’s side while she calms down. Root kisses the top of her head, pulls the blanket snugly over them both, takes Shaw’s hand and threads it up her shirt until Shaw can feel Root’s hard nipple through her soft travel bra and then wriggles—clearly sliding her hand into her own pants.

Shaw strokes over Root’s nipples through the fabric until Root tenses silently and melts against the seat back, transitioning into sleep as soon as her hand is out of her pants, as far as Shaw can tell.   
  
Shaw shrugs and balls her sweater up, props it on Root’s shoulder and follows her to dreamtown. 


	59. Where You Hang Your Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some vanilla and mostly glossed over smut under the line

“Home sweet home!” Shaw grins at Root’s enthusiastic remark as she presses in the new alarm code on the shiny white box by the doorframe.

Shaw opens the door once the light clicks to green and they bundle their bags through the front door. It looks the same as it did before they left, before Kelli broke in. The maid has been by and put away the scrumpled blanket  they left on the couch. The dishes that were drying in the rack by the kitchen sink are away, and the room is cold and dark and silent.

“How knackered are you?” Root asks, clicking the light on, throwing her bag down on the floor and dropping onto the couch, kicking her shoes off and waggling her feet.

“Eh, my body thinks it’s morning.” Shaw takes her skate shoes off and stretches, pulling her tshirt over her head and then rapidly divesting herself of the rest of her clothes, leaving them on the floor by her backpack. They’re gonna have to do all the laundry in the world, anyway. 

Root eyes her up with a little smirk, so Shaw props her hands on the back of her head, flexing a little. “I’m gonna shower, wanna join?” 

“Shower or  _ shower _ ?” Root drawls the second option, wriggling cozily on the couch.

“Shower like get the airplane off me,” Shaw elaborates, padding towards the bathroom. She’s too tired to stand up fuck right now, too lazy and sore, just wants a hot rinse off and to lay down on a flat surface.

“I’ll go after you,” Root calls after her, a grin in her voice. Shaw flexes her ass, cause she can feel Root’s eyes on her.

Once they’re both clean they make a cursory effort at sorting a first load of laundry so they’ll at least have undies in the morning.

Root is craving a salad, because of all the weeks she had to eat real food, so Shaw summons the energy to jog to the shops and get some basics in while Root deals with her work emails with judicious amounts of swearing. 

By four in the afternoon they’re both so zonked they have to take a nap, and fall into bed for an hour in the hopes that will help.

Unfortunately, it does not, and when they wake up Shaw feels like she’s waterlogged, slow and sticky and confused by basically everything, so instead of doing anything even remotely productive they throw Indiana Jones on and lounge about in bed naked, too tired to do anything more active.

Of course, they start feeling pretty awake by the time it’s a reasonable hour to actually  _ go  _ to bed, and Shaw decides to go down to the gym in the hopes of working the stiffness out of her muscles and tiring herself out.

When she gets back, there’s soft music trailing through the apartment and flickering light streaming through the cracked bathroom door into the bedroom.

Shaw knocks lightly and pushes it open when Root hums in welcome. 

Root’s sprawled out in the bath, with one leg over the edge of the tub, candles on every surface, and her head propped on Shaw’s morning-after pillow. There’s a pipe resting on one of the kitchen stools in easy reach, and Shaw smirks, sitting down on the closed toilet lid and picking up the lighter and pipe to take a hit.

“Having fun?” She inquires in a soft cloud of white smoke.

“It’s pretty nice in here,” Root chuckles, curling her toes on the cold ceramic tile of the tap-wall. Her hair is piled up on her head, she’s pink in the cheeks, pale through the water under the thick layer of bubbles, and her leg is smooth where she’s clearly just shaved it while Shaw was out of the house.   
  
She looks beautiful, wet and soft and relaxed, absent of the usual edgy energy of calculating and thinking and processing. It’s soothing and Shaw leans over to trail her empty hand through the water next to Root’s raised up thigh. “Room for me?”

“Always,” Root hums, patting the water between her legs, “c’mon in.” 

Shaw shucks off her clothes at high speed, and slides into the water between Root’s legs, shuddering contentedly as Root runs her wet hands over Shaw’s stomach. 

“Good vacay,” Shaw props one foot up on the cold tap, enjoying the temperature contrast.

“Yeah,” Root agrees, water lubricating her gentle stroking of Shaw’s abs and hips, “I was... pretty surprised that you’d be going away with everyone, that you’d want to. And that you’d invite me.”

Shaw shrugs, hot awkwardness curling in her stomach that she tries to will away, “s’hardly worse than living with them. At least you put out.”

Root accepts the redirection and trips her hand down to graze through Shaw’s pubes, making her exhale in an ‘mmm’ of approval. “Damn right I do.”

With a little smirk, Shaw leans her head back on Root’s shoulder, letting her knees float in the bubbly water. They lounge around in comfortable silence, smoke a bit more, stay in the bath until the water is cool and then rinse off together, enjoying the luxury of not having to think about what other people are doing, or making any plans.

It’s gone eleven, and they get ready for bed right out of the shower, brushing their teeth and washing their faces, before taking turns with the hairdryer and then slipping into bed naked, jammies close at hand.

“Our bed is so big,” Root purrs, stretching luxuriously, “king sized beds are the best, why does anyone ever have a smaller bed.”

“Because people are poor, Root.” Shaw rolls her eyes, plumping her pillow up under her head.

“Ah. Money. The worst.”

“Exactly.” Shaw tugs on Root’s side side until she rolls inwards so Shaw can stroke her hip, “now be quiet, sugar daddy, and let me earn my keep.”

Root snickers, squirms closer still and grabs a handful of Shaw’s ass. “And what exactly do you plan on doing?”

* * *

 

“Well I was gonna suck your dick, but if you won’t shut up, maybe I should put something in  _ your  _ mouth...” Shaw teases, hooking her ankle through Root’s to pull her even closer. 

“Mmm, too lazy for bjs,” Root hooks her fingers deeper around the curve of Shaw’s ass, squeezes, “wanna sixty nine until we both pass out?”

“You mean until I pass out and then you ride yourself off on my face?” Shaw points out, but she throws the duvet back anyway and squirms down until she can press kisses against Root’s breastbone, waiting to see if she tilts in the ‘yes, boob touching is okay right now,’ way or veers away in the ‘no thanks,’ way. Root arches in, so Shaw kisses over to her nipple, dragging her tongue over the sensitive bud and revelling in the way Root’s stomach clenches under her hand.

“Tomato, tomahto,” Root sighs, curling her fingers into Shaw’s head and tugging gently, no heat in it just cozy.

Shaw actually does a pretty good job of holding it so they both finish at the same time, before she crawls back up the bed, drags the covers over them and snuggles down on her front.   
  
“Welcome home, Root,” she murmurs into the dark room, and Root strokes her hand gently down Shaw’s flank before squeezing softly and flipping over to curl up facing the door, as is her usual sleeping position. 


	60. You'll Know By The Stillness In My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some Drama. Read with time to process/ in safe space. Detail content warning at the end if you like
> 
> title from MWY- Gentlemen

A sound wakes Root from a pleasant dream about having a picnic with friendly lions, Shaw’s already sitting up in bed, her eyebrows visibly furrowed in the silver moonlight sneaking its way around the curtains.

“What?” Root starts to ask, but Shaw flaps her hand, hushes her. 

Root’s heartrate jumps, skips, what the fuck is happening, what woke Shaw up? The alarm was set, Blackwell’s in jail in Paris, Kelli’s in Sacramento... everything should be back to normal.

A scuffing noise through the open bedroom door lets Root know everything is  _ not  _ normal. Mind racing, she reaches out for her phone, grabbing it and hitting the emergency 911 shortcut. She  presses call and mutes the phone before clicking the screen dark and leaving it, connected, on the nightstand. She’ll apologize for wasting police time later, if necessary, but after Martine she’s sure as fuck not taking any chances. 

A shadow in the doorway, movement, and then a man steps into the bedroom. His eyes flick down, and Root is abruptly, shockingly aware that she’s naked. Panic washes over her in a wave, leaving her with bile stinging her throat and fear freezing her muscles to ice. 

Her taser is in the living room, useless to her. 

“What do you want?” Shaw sounds very, very calm in the face of an intruder. She shifts on the bed until her hand is on Root’s thigh, comforting and hot like a brand against Root’s fear-chilled skin. 

Root doesn’t know what to do, she feels like she should say something, she’s supposed to be the one who’s clever and quick with words, but the man speaks before she can.

“You know what I want. Hanna Fray’s paintings. I know they're here.” Root can’t see his face, it’s just black shadow, but it sounds like he’s grinning. “GPS tagged each and every canvas. So don’t bother lying. And don’t move,” it’s dark in the room but Root can finally see he’s wearing a balaclava, and black gloves. He doesn’t have a weapon, as far as she can see, though.

“The paintings are under the bed,” Shaw says, and she’s still calm, and Root is still frozen, frozen in fear that’s starting to twist into hot rage. She knows who this man is, even without seeing his face. It’s Cyril, it has to be. The one loose end they haven’t tied up yet.

She shifts, and Shaw’s hand tightens on her thigh, says ‘no’, says ‘don’t move’, says ‘not yet’. Root inhales shakily, and Shaw twists very, very slowly, reaches with her free hand for the back of the bed.

“What are you doing?” The man snaps, “don’t  _ move _ .” 

“I’m getting her a shirt,” Shaw doesn’t stop, grabs the cotton draped over the bedframe, basically ignoring the man in their bedroom. Shaw brings the tshirt to Root, where she’s sat up in the bed, blanket round her hips. Shaw, totally comfortable, opens the shirt up for Root to dive into, and tugs it down around her waist without looking away from Root’s face. 

Shaw’s eyes are big and dark and calm, there’s no fear in her, and Root relaxes a little. Shaw gives her a small, lopsided grin. Root inhales.

“As I said, the paintings are under the bed,” Shaw says, turning back around, apparently unconcerned by her nudity, “so either you can get down on your stomach and wriggle them out, or I can get out of the bed and fetch them.” She states it reasonably, surely. As though Cyril would be an idiot to disagree.

“The other one. You stay in the bed,” Cyril counters, “where I can see you.” So either he knows Shaw can fight, or he’s figured it out from her musculature. 

“Then first I get her some shorts,” Shaw strokes Root’s shoulder, twists around in the bed to grab her jammy pants. Root takes them hastily, wriggles into them under the covers. She wonders if Shaw knows her phone is connected to 911, that there’s probably cars on their way, now. 

As she slides out of the bed, onto shaky and unsteady legs, she thinks she sees a shadow move in the living room. There must be two of them, but how to let Shaw know? She puts two fingers up behind her head, pretending to hook her hair behind her ears. 

“Get on with it,” Cyril shifts threateningly and Root feels more than sees Shaw move behind her.

Without answering, cause what could you even say? Root just wants to hand over the paintings so Cyril will leave, they can worry about pinning him down later, hell she probably knows at least one hitman. 

“Was it you?” Shit, Root didn’t mean to say anything, but as she gets to her knees, hair prickling on the back of her neck, the words fall out. 

“What?” Cyril kicks her in the back of her hip, not hard, more of an encouragement than anything, but Shaw growls, slides forward, and then there’s the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking, “don’t be stupid.” He warns.

“Did you kill Hanna?” Root can feel the edge of the carry case, but when she pulls it out a little, even in the low light she can see it’s blue, not black. Shaw’s, not Hanna’s. She remembers what Shaw said when Root told her how much the paintings were worth,  _ between the bed and the wall,  _ she’d said. And yet she sent Root here, under the bed.

“Stupid girl didn’t know when to give up and do what she was told.” It’s not a denial, hot rage swirls into Root’s belly, driving out the cold tension and making her shiver with it.

She methodically pulls the case out from under the bed. He’s going to realize they’re not Hanna’s paintings right away, she doesn’t know what game Shaw is playing here. But she trusts her.

“Open it.” Cyril says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyril arrives to try to get the paintings back, he breaks into Shoot's apartment and threatens them. No actual violence


	61. Gravity Plays Favourites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mentions of guns

Root’s on her knees, facing Shaw, her hands are shaking as she reaches for the zip. Shaw can feel her eyes begging for help, for information, for Shaw to  _ look  _ at her, but she can’t look down. 

Behind Cyril, Dani holds up three fingers with her free hand, her other wrapped firmly around the stock of her gun, pointed at Cyril’s head, and Shaw deliberately keeps her eyes locked on Cyril’s face, doesn’t slip, doesn’t flinch or nod or grimace or do anything at all with her blank face that could give Dani away. Dani folds her ring finger down.

“Open it.” Cyril says.

Dani drops her second finger and the sound of the zipper sliding around the case holding Shaw’s barely-started painting of her family burns through the room. 

Dani drops her last finger, steps forward smoothly and presses her gun against the intruder’s neck. “Police, put your hands up,” she demands fiercely, brows drawn in concentration. Shaw’s already diving right, pushing the blankets clear. She covers Root with her body on the floor, pressing them both against the rough carpet.

Cyril freezes. 

Root gasps under her, small and fragile feelings. Shaw's whole back is so tense she feels like her muscles could stop a bullet. Shaw uses her body to push them both sideways, against the wall, while Dani forces Cyril to his knees, takes his gun off him very carefully, and cuffs him in smooth, practised movements. 

Shaw exhales, unfolds from over Root and sits back with adrenaline soaring through her, making her want to laugh out loud. The carpeting is rough and scratchy under her palms, on her ass and the soles of her feet. Her body's buzzing, wild. 

“Thank fuck for nosy neighbours,” she half-grins, the fear of having Root in the same room as a gun  _ again  _ receding now the man is in handcuffs.

“Thank your alarm company and your 911 call.” Dani’s half dressed, Shaw realises now, in sweatpants and a tshirt not her uniform. Dani sees her looking. “My partner was pulling a late shift, he’s on the squad heading over—he thought it was my address and called me. I tried your door and it was unlocked....”   
  
Shaw nods, gets to her feet and remembers she’s naked all at once. “Thanks.” She repeats. Dani does an admirable job of not letting her eyes skate over Shaw’s body for more than a millisecond. Shaw smirks as she pulls on some sweats, then helps Root up and urges her into the living room, out of the way on the couch.

Everything happens pretty fast, after that, sirens wail outside and flashes of blue and red lights streak through the windows. While Cyril is read his rights and manhandled out of the apartment by cops, Shaw leaves Root and heads back to the bedroom, pulls the cases containing Hanna’s paintings out from behind the bed and carries them into the living area. 

Root is sat with her arms around her knees. Shaw drops the carry cases on the table, in front of her. No one is paying much attention to them right now, busy talking to Dani, analysing the bedroom and the front door. 

Shaw unzips the case, nudges Root, “touch them,” she murmurs, and Root starts, leaning into her. Shaw figures if they can get an excusable ‘we didn’t think about not touching this possible evidence but have defs never seen these paintings before tonight’ set of fingerprints on the canvases, it’ll save them some trouble. When Root doesn’t really move, she grabs her hand and drops it on the edge, then swears loudly.

“Holy shit.”

The two cops still in the room inspecting the front door look over, then cross the room rapidly. 

“What is that?” The stern looking female officer inquires, leaning over. “Are these the paintings the intruder was talking about? Oh.... Okay, I’m gonna need you to stop touching those...” Shaw immediately pulls Root’s hands back, it should be enough that the officer saw them with their fingers all over them now.

It takes a long time to give their statements, Root and Shaw in separate areas of the apartment. Shaw doesn’t like it, wants to be with Root, who’s looking blank and shocked and keeps finding Shaw’s eyes across the room. But they have to deal with the cops. Shaw hopes Root is also playing the ‘complete ignorance’ card, and she makes sure to never mention they were recently in Paris—sticking with ‘we just got back from Italy'. She hopes the eventual conclusion will be that Cyril tracked down Hanna’s paintings on his own, and came to get them back, was foiled by the alarm system and that everything looks pretty straightforward to the cops. 

When she runs back over what was said in the bedroom, she’s relieved to realise Cyril mentioned the paintings first, which should help. 

The police eventually leave, although both Root and Shaw are expected at the station the following day, to go over their statements again, and as soon as she’s shut the door, Shaw resets the alarm code and strides over to Root, pulling her into a hug. 

Root comes easily, limply, and Shaw manhandles her back over to the sofa, feeling like the bedroom is maybe not the best place right now.

“Why did you tell him the paintings were under the bed?” Root asks, after a moment of quiet, and Shaw exhales.

“I figured either he’d let me get up to get them, which would bring me close enough to him to take him down—he didn’t have his gun out yet—or you’d at least be out of the way if he made you go.” She explains, toying with Root’s shirt hem, a little uncomfortable.  

“Makes sense. So... this was our  _ redo  _ of our first night living together,” Root mumbles into her shoulder sounding a lot more irritated and a lot less devastated than Shaw expected from her body language. It’s a relief, makes Shaw feel safer, less like she’s gonna fuck up and hurt Root in some way.

“Night ain’t over yet,” she tries a little tease, to see if that helps, and Root slumps more on top of her, groaning as Shaw rubs her back gently.

“How do you think we should turn this night around?” Root inquires, and Shaw looks around the room.  
  
“Well.” A thought hits, and she digs her fingers into the muscle of Root’s neck, firm but careful, and Root makes a throaty noise and melts. “I could give you a massage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we are almost at the very end. On Friday I'll be posting the last chapter in the morning, and then the epilogue in the afternoon. Thank you all for your love and support.
> 
> edit: please for the love of the machine do not comment on this behemoth asking when I'm gonna start the next book. I have forty thousand things to do, I owe my editor an entire book, I have two jobs, I'm dying, please let me bask in the glory of having completed something before inquiring as to when I might plan on writing another 100k novel for you. 
> 
> I love you, I wish I could give you fic every day, but you know this story so far has taken me approximately 700 hours, right? <3


	62. Oil Me Up and Rub Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: sexy massaging. The actual sex is marked with a line and the stuff before that is not actually sexual, but like, they are naked. And there's oil. Bit of a paradigm shift, Shaw kinda tops. There's also biting, Root on the receiving end.

“Ngg, yes. Rub me.” That suggestion clearly went down well, and Shaw wants to do it properly, so she gently wriggles out from under Root to get equipment.

“Wait here,” she tells her, and Root nods into the cushions she’s fallen on to.

Shaw pads around setting up some music—K’s Choice—getting oil, and even taking the candles Root was using for her bath and bringing them into the living area.  She sets them up on the table, and then strokes her hand down Root’s spine.

“Take your clothes off and come lie down,” she urges, and Root gets up, unfolds, looking at Shaw with enough soft affection in her eyes it makes Shaw squirm a little, so she grabs the couch cushions and brusquely sets them up before throwing a soft blanket over them and waiting for Root to lie down.

Root pulls off her shirt, then her shorts and settles onto the improvised massage table while Shaw debates whether or not to pull her sweatpants off. She doesn’t have underwear on, and that could change the vibe away from looking-after-Root which is what Shaw is currently going for. She’s got her thumbs hooked into the waistband but she can’t decide.

“Take them off, babe,” Root peeks up at her over her arm, “it’s not like I think you’re gonna molest me against my will. Plus, I like feeling your naked bits.”

“In that case,” Shaw grins lopsidedly and kicks her pants off, then yanks her shirt over her head, leaving her naked. She swings her leg over Root’s hips and sits down slowly, resting her weight on Root’s ass, “don’t blame me if this takes a turn for the sexy.”

“Were you going for an innocent naked massage?” Root inquires, with a grin in her voice, sounding much more balanced.

 

Shaw squirts oil into her palm and rubs them together to warm it up. “Innocent with possibility,” she snorts, and sets her hands down on Root’s slender back.

Root groans comfortably, her muscles tight and hard from the plane trip, and Shaw hums along to the music as she gets to work, chasing each knot and thread of tension until it melts under her hands, until Root is a soft, warm, gooey and floppy mess. It feels like aftercare, to Shaw, like when Root takes care of her, and she figures that’s probably good for trauma, too.

Shaw slides down Root’s thigh, absently noting how wet she’s gotten while massaging Root's back, but that’s not important right now, it’s only important to take care of Root. Shaw smooths her hands up the pale skin of Root’s leg, digs her thumbs into the muscles of her ass, hears every little groan and moan of contentment Root makes under her hands.

Root opens her legs a little as Shaw works her way down the second, and on her way back up, Shaw trails her fingertips along the inside of Root’s thigh. “Roll over,” she requests, surprised by how thick her voice comes out, how low and thrumming with sex she sounds.

But it’s been a while since they’ve had the chance to do anything other than squeeze sex in here and there, work on a schedule, almost. This is different, like hours of foreplay, like the sex before they went to sleep when they were tired and wiped out was just leading up to this _more_.

* * *

 She lifts up so Root can twist, resettles over her thighs, their pussies brushing together just slightly but enough to send a full shiver through Shaw. She picks up Root’s hand, licks her lips as she rolls her thumbs into Root’s palm, making her let out a deep groan and lift her hips.

Shaw grins, and rocks her hips down as she concentrates on each individual finger before switching to the other hand.

“God, that feels good,” Root murmurs, her eyes glued to Shaw’s mouth, so Shaw bites her lower lip deliberately before replying.

“I like making you feel good,” and she does, it’s true, she likes the way Root looks at her when she’s done something good, likes the way it feels warm and comfortable between them. Likes it when Root is happy.  

“I like it when we make each other feel good,” Root agrees, and her voice is soft and warm and slow, like molasses, not heavy with command but Shaw shifts to the sound of her anyway and leans down to kiss her, ‘cause Root’s still looking at her mouth.

Shaw slides oily hands up Root’s arms, gently holds her wrists against the floor, no strength or violence in it, and Root stays pliable and easy under her. Their mouths meet, brush together, Root licks over Shaw’s bottom lip and it’s unbearably erotic, she clenches down and curls her hips into Root’s, who lifts into her to match.   
  
There’s no teeth, no raging, demanding fire, just a slow, quiet build of sliding against each other, the oil on Root’s skin transferring to Shaw’s body and easing the way they glide together, until Root has her legs wide open, her pelvis tilted upwards trying to get contact against Shaw as she rides Root’s pubic bone with rising urgency.

“ _Oh,”_ Root gasps as Shaw shifts back a bit, feels the scalding hotness of Root’s pussy against her own, “oh _fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Shaw shudders out in response, trying to angle better, give Root more, she lets go of her hands and braces her own on Root’s thighs, driving her hips forwards.

“God, Sameen,” Root groans, finding her waist with strong fingers, pulling them together more and harder and faster until Shaw’s panting little gasps of oh-oh-oh on every breath, so close, the spiral of almost-orgasm building up in her stomach.

“Root, I’m gonna come,” Shaw pants, and it’s at least half a request for permission.

Root growls and flips them in a smooth, forceful move that would impress the hell out of Shaw if she wasn’t busy thudding back first onto the rug, didn’t suddenly have Root hovering over her with a wicked grin and didn’t have fingers abruptly pushing inside her, driving out every semblance of logical thought and replacing it with, “oh fucking, fuck, Root, oh fuck,” as she comes on Root’s fingers before they’re fully inside her.

Her orgasm blasts through her, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her fingers, leaving her tingling and clenching arrhythmically on Root’s searching, slowing fingers.

“Again, lover,” and it’s not a command, but not a request, just a statement of fact as Root drags her fingertips over Shaw’s gspot with expert care, thrums her thumb over Shaw’s clit with just the right amount of pressure, and Shaw loses it, digging her hands into the carpet and curling forwards to hide her face in Root’s neck.

The music switches to Virgin State of Mind just as Shaw’s second orgasm crests, making her laugh. The wave of pleasure rolls, swells, builds on itself and sweeps through Shaw’s spine and out through the top of her head, and she’s still laughing a little as she flops weakly back to the floor, feeling limp and boneless.

Root is propped on her elbow on the cushions when Shaw flutters her eyes open. Root’s gaze is heavy lidded and she’s touching herself, although slowly and not in the determined way she does when she’s trying to come.

“Can I?” Shaw asks, trying to crawl back onto the couch cushions with weak legs and slightly shaky arms.

“Yeah,” Root rolls back, puts her hands under her head and grins down at Shaw, “all yours,” Shaw narrows her eyes at Root, cause the way she said it feels weighted, meaningful, but Root just gives her an abysmal fail of a wink and opens her legs as Shaw settles between them.

It makes Shaw want to sink her teeth into the meat of Root’s thighs, and she leans down, brushes lightly against the muscle with her mouth, “can I bite you?” She asks, muffled by the press of her lips against Root’s leg.

“Unph,” the sound Root makes in response isn’t a word, isn’t permission, but the hand in Shaw’s hair pressing her more firmly against Root’s skin _is,_ so Shaw opens her mouth and digs her teeth in, moaning wantonly around the mouthful of flesh as Root tenses viciously and lets out a soft yelp of pain.

Shaw holds on, soothing the small damage with tender tongue strokes until Root flops her leg back down, tugs on Shaw’s head and moves her to Root’s other thigh.

She goes back and forth, obeying the direction of Root’s hand, leaving red circles behind her mouth that she knows will bruise black and green—Root’s so pale and delicate. The thought of seeing those marks on Root’s skin turns Shaw on even more, and she finds herself grinding shamelessly against the seam of the couch cushion when she finally gets directed to put her mouth on Root’s pussy.

Root is _soaked,_ as wet as she’s ever been, slick and swollen, and Shaw gets it all over her face as she eagerly pushes in, seeking the source with her tongue. Root does the arch and clench she does when getting tongue fucked is good, so Shaw presses even closer, drives her tongue hard and firm inside Root, revelling in the gripping hands in her hair.

It doesn’t last long, Root comes quickly, with a sharp little cry and fingernails digging into Shaw’s shoulder hard enough there’ll be marks there in the morning.

She crawls up Root’s body, obedient to Root’s soft-tugging hands, and lays down on her with her head on Root’s chest. She can hear Root’s heartbeat, it’s fast and fluttery, and Shaw marvels at the very idea of being comfortable here, pressed up on someone because that’s where they want Shaw to be.

They stay there until Root’s breathing’s evened out again, before stumbling into the bedroom together, and falling back into the bed. It’s like the events of earlier have faded, like they’ve paled out in comparison to the present.  
  
Shaw’s still horny, still needy, and Root rolls on top of her, works against her until she comes on Root’s thigh with teeth in her neck and fingers on her clit, and she falls asleep there, half underneath Root, naked and sticky and entirely content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was gonna double post tomorrow but I managed to find time to edit this yesterday :) So you'll get just the epilogue tomorrow.


	63. A Soft Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from Nikka Ursula

“So you’re all signed up for weekly classes,” The man smiles as he hands Root a last form to sign. She scribbles her name while trying not to laugh at the sight of Shaw, sat on the floor with a lap full of fairly large puppy, clearly having a pretty nice time.

“Yep, for six months, I think?” Root asks, handing the clipboard back. “And we’re good for shots and things?”

“Yep, I have your vaccination record here,” he deftly flips to another page, “along with the dates of boosters and some other medical information. You should be all set.”

“Great,” Root walks over and squats down next to Shaw and her new friend, they’ve already been introduced but Shaw chose to remain playing with her while Root handled the ‘adult stuff’. “You ready, babe?”

Shaw nods and gets up, then leans down to pet Attila’s ears comfortingly, “me babe, or her babe?”

“I think we should all just assume that if I say babe, I’m talking to you,” Root observes dryly, tangling her fingers around Shaw’s in the soft fur of the beautiful black and brown dog that is now their very own. Attila is a bit smaller than would be standard for a six month old Lab, with very distinctive rottweiler markings, and white feet from somewhere in her mixed bag of genetics. It looks like she's wearing socks, and Shaw is quite obviously delighted by this quirk of appearance. 

Shaw has spent the last two days rearranging their furniture, rigging a balcony doggy door up so Attila can get out to use the fancy new toilet grass patch if she so needs, and generally burning more of a hole in Root’s credit card for the dog than she ever has done for herself. It’s adorable, and Root is very, very pleased with the way this all panned out. The adoption papers Shaw made her sign about dog custody in case of separation were a bit over the top, in her opinion, but she can’t accuse her of being unprepared to welcome a new member to their small family.

Attila trundles around to lick at their hands, and then yips excitedly as the door to the main carpark opens letting in a gust of fresh air. She makes a break for it, but she’s on a leash, so she doesn’t get far, and Shaw snickers as she pulls her back gently, commanding “heel, Attila,” in an even tone.

Attila stops pulling, and drops back to lean against Shaw’s leg with her tail wagging just a little, and Shaw says “good girl,” and scruffs her ears, which turns the tail action into violent delighted thwapping. Shaw grins broadly, clearly already having a great time.

Shaw sits in the back of the car with Attila to ‘keep her company’ on the way back, talking to her in a low voice that Root can only pick a few words out of. It seems they are going to be best friends, and Root can’t stop looking at them in the rearview.

Introducing Attila to her new home takes a while, they walk her around, play with her in all the different rooms, letting her get used to the layout and smells and stuff. They take her to the dog park just for a toilet trip and a walk, not wanting to let her run free and wild yet until she’s used to them, although she’s already super attached to Shaw and doesn’t want to stray too far, even when there’s noises and smells and things.

She’s tired by the time they get back, a big day for her, probably, so Shaw and Root make a floor nest in front of the couch and stick Jurassic Park on, making sure to follow the schedule of outside breaks that the puppy trainer had printed out for them.

It’s a cozy, chilled out evening, which is somewhat ruined by the amount of crying Attila does when ‘abandoned’ in her sleeping crate for the night.

When Root wakes up the next morning, she’s alone, and she pads out into the living room to find Shaw asleep in the massive dog bed she insisted on purchasing, with Attila curled happily into the space under her arm.

It’s adorable, and Root snaps a few pictures on her cellphone before starting on breakfast.

Training Attila gives Shaw a bit more structure to her days, since it’s the offseason right now she’s not really training with the team, but has to keep in shape, of course. Attila ends up being one of her major focuses, along with starting to take on teaching responsibilities at the Y again—her old self defence classes—and taking a few online courses she says will be helpful when she starts med school.

They settle into a cozy routine, Root works from home most days, goes in late on days Shaw is training in the morning, they make sure someone is always around for Attila. Every now and again Joss or Zoe will dogsit overnight to give them some time to work off some steam in a club or a hotel.   

***

Root feels light and happy as she pushes the front door open and squats down to let Attila lick her face excitedly, scruffing the pup’s belly when she flops over for scratches, overwhelmed by excitement at the return of her second favourite human.

Anyone would think Root had been gone for weeks, instead of just a few hours to meet up with Harry. They got a lot done though, are better placed for the work ahead. They’ve managed to divide the rebuild of Nova quite well over the past month, Root thinks, but it’s important to meet regularly and check they’re still on the same page.

It was annoying at first, fitting it around meetings with the police and lawyers, but everything seems to have resolved pretty well. Cyril’s being held on suspicion of first degree murder, art theft, and a bunch of related crimes. Dani keeps them somewhat updated on the progress of the case, and it seems like the phone—Hanna’s phone—contained a tracking device, rather than the canvases themselves. When Root turned the phone on, it clued Blackwell and Cyril in to the phone's location, but when Kelli failed to find anything, they concluded the paintings must be hidden somewhere else. That means Cyril thought his best play was to break in and get them to take him to them. The investigation seems to be going well  and according to Dani they’ve tied him to a nice little nest of other criminals in the city—there’s been a wave of arrests. Romeo says the underground is going nuts with power redistribution, and he’s lucked out with some big contracts for his crew.

Root’s just glad that Hanna’s murder will finally be given the investigation it deserves, that she’ll finally get justice.

She keeps petting the dog as she kicks her shoes off, “where’s your mom, hon?” Much to Shaw’s continued annoyance, Root has lengthened Attila’s name to ‘Attila the Honey Bun,’ which she thinks is hilarious.

“In here,” Shaw replies from the living room, around the corner blocked by the kitchen. Root grins, straightens up and heads over to collect her welcome home gropes.

When she gets into the living area, Shaw is standing on a small step stool—which is always adorable—just starting to hammer something into the wall.  “What are you doing?”  Root inquires, sidling over and sliding her hands around Shaw’s waist, indulging in some shameless molestation while Shaw has her hands full.

“Hanging a painting.” Shaw states, like Root is a fucking idiot, and Root looks around, confused.

“What painting?”

“It’s behind the couch. Hang on.” Shaw hops down, wriggling out of Root’s hands, and pads over to the couch, grabbing a broad canvas. Root can’t see what’s on it, cause Shaw has the image side to her. Maybe she finished painting something, maybe it’s the explosion from her old room? Root smiles happily at the thought of Shaw feeling at home enough to decorate.

Shaw spins the painting, and Root can’t figure out what it is for a moment, and then bright orange-yellows and greens and blues resolve themselves into a scene she recognises.

It’s the lake.

The lake where she grew up, where she and Hanna used to hang out all summer long, dangling their feet in the water. The lake in the painting is surrounded by trees turned orange for fall, luminous and welcoming. The sunlight streams over the bright leaves, dances over the water, and drapes over rocks that Root remembers being a boring, flat gray. In the picture they’re shining, silvers and grays and whites and so much detail Root feels like she could reach out and touch them, drag her fingers over the rough surface.

“I went to see Hanna’s professor, to see if he had any of her stuff.” Shaw shifts the painting so it’s straight and hops down. “Cause you said you’d pick one of her things to hang up, you know, before we found out she was secretly a forger involved in an international art heist ring...” Shaw clearly loses her train of thought slightly and then jumps back onto it, “and he had this one and a few others. I remembered the story about the lake, and I thought... well. I thought it would be nice.” She pulls a face. “If it’s not nice obviously we can take it down.”

Root’s heart feels big and tight in her chest, but in a good way. “It’s nice. It’s really nice. Thank you.” She says quietly, stepping forwards to run her fingers over the irregular paint surface.

“Welcome,” Shaw shuffles in a bit, tucks her hand in Root’s back pocket. Attila bounds over from where she’d chosen to stay by the door and chew on Root’s shoes.

Root tugs Shaw back onto the sofa, flopping down and admiring the bright splash of colour on a wall that used to be empty, plain white. Attila hops up next to Shaw, clambers over until she’s lying on both of their laps, giving a soft whuff as Root pets her soft ears. “Looks good.” She says.

And it does.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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